


older than the trees

by lamphouse



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast), The Adventure Zone: Amnesty (Podcast)
Genre: Accidental Plot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Bonding, Camping, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Gen, In Medias Res, M/M, Medium Burn (Slow Burn for the Impatient), Monster of the Week, Mystery, Not Abandoned, Stakeout, Summer Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2019-11-26 08:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18178199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamphouse/pseuds/lamphouse
Summary: Summer is returning to Kepler, bringing with it humid late nights, not as many tourists as there used to be, and a certain moth man. Unfortunately, they're not the only ones.Duck talks some shit out. Aubrey chills. Ned gets grifted. Indrid learns to see.





	1. prologue

They make it to the tiny truss bridge on the edge of town before the sun really starts to set, drawing the abomination away from any lingering commuters. The sound of boots and sneakers clanging against the metal is unavoidable, but the trees swallow the sound, and they keep running.

That is, most of them do. Aubrey is a good ways down, turning over her shoulder every so often as she whispers urgently into her palms. As she occasionally slows, Ned quickly overtakes her, and Duck is only a little bit behind as he tries to pull the package out of his pocket. At the junction where concrete meets metal, however, Indrid skitters to a stop.

"Uh, bridges and I don't... get on so well," he says in a voice much higher than usual. "Perhaps I'll just—"

Whatever insanely dangerous alternative that sentence was going to end with dissipates when Duck grabs his hand and yanks him over the threshold, not looking back.

"I'd love to hear any other options," Ned shouts from ahead, voice slightly faint as he continues running in the opposite direction.

They make it maybe a foot before Indrid zones out, staring ahead at the futures instead of the reality of his present. If Duck weren't so busy trying to make sure no one gets eaten by the abomination, he'd feel a little touched at the show of trust. As is, he just wants to get across the river.

Further down, Aubrey is pushing a wall of wind at the creature. She's been practicing a lot recently and it twists harmlessly past Duck and Indrid, a straight corridor that aims the Narf Blaster's beam right at the creature's chest. It wails in response, large leathery wings flapping in place, before jerking to the side, out of the beam and into one of Aubrey's wind tunnels. Aubrey lets out a little cheer, causing her concentration to slip for just long enough that the abomination can get its figurative feet under it, wings pushing it higher until Aubrey's winds dissipate.

"Well damn," Ned says, mid-reload.

"Hang on!"

Aubrey rushes back down, the lingering winds shooting past her erratically as she puts herself between the abomination and the rest of the gang. She motions for everyone to move further up, but the rattling of the bridge's metal walls snaps Indrid back into the present and he freezes again.

"C'mon, man," Duck says under his breath, tugging on Indrid's hand without looking away from the creature. Underneath them the river stutters, buffeted by so many winds—winds that are growing stronger as the creature fights back against Aubrey's renewed onslaught.

This close, it's hard not to balk at the size of it. It's hard to look away.

Indrid follows his gaze, and stops. The sky is growing darker still, but his pupils contract regardless.

"Oh my god. Seriously? Right now?" But no one hears Duck, because above them the shadow sinks to the ground, barely visible with the setting sun at its back and the lampposts flickering on in front.

There's a moment where no one breathes. The shape at the entrance of the bridge doesn't move. Aubrey's winds still. The river returns to its normal flow, and even Indrid's urge to run dissipates in the face of anticipation.

Then the scream echoes down the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rummages around boxes in an attic* I know it's here somewhere... *pulls out satin bomber jacket* ah, here it is *dusts off, turning it into the light to show that "duck newton kisses men" is embroidered on the back* perfect
> 
> okay so I know this is so fucking ominous lmao, but we love a cliffhanger! also I haven't written a proper multichapter fic in a literal eon so like? proper chapter divisions? linear progression? nah son, no time for any of that anymore. lemme know what you think tho lmao. I've got the general outline but most of this I'm just working out as I go along!
> 
> also this just sort of... ignores the evolving ethical question of if the abominations are really a lost cause, the rapid deterioration of the connection w/ sylvain, etc etc, cuz I just wanted it to be summer! I miss summer. it also doesn't take into account whatever the end of the current arc may be, cuz I don't wanna have to rewrite around it every other week lmao


	2. phone the station

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ducking in real quick at the top to remind you the prologue was in medias res, so this is before, in case you haven't read the tags (totally understandable)

"It's late."

Mama's bag lands with a thud on top of the papers Ned is pretending to look over. It's a testament to how far they've come that instead of doing some posturing about his place of business, Ned merely sighs and looks up.

"Well, Mama, I'm sure you know that statistically, at your age—"

"Christ, Ned, focus up." She glances at the other end of the room where Kirby is. He's got headphones on and his laptop is whirring louder than an ancient swamp fanboat, but he's still sneaking glances every other word, so Mama's paranoia isn't entirely unwarranted. "The full moon's tonight and we've seen neither hide nor monstrous tail of anything since February."

"And what exactly do you expect me to do about that?"

Mama raises one eyebrow, and it's then that Ned actually looks at the bag she's set on the table. Lumpy, dark green, covered in a fleet of carabiners, a rolled up tent strapped to the top...

"No no no," he cuts her off before she can say anything. "Absolutely not."

"At least one of y'all is gonna have to camp out by the gate, twenty-four seven." She fixes him with a look. "We can't afford to fuck up, Ned. You know that."

"Well what're you telling me for? Isn't this a group effort?"

The despairing _Why me?_ feeling is always, at some level, a fundamental part of Ned's emotional landscape, but right now it's at an all-time high. He knows he falls at the bottom of the de facto leader ranking, but Duck is at work, and a glance around the lobby tells him Aubrey is nowhere near either.

"Because you're the first one I found, Ned."

She picks up the bag again and pushes it into his hands.

"It's just your turn."

* * *

Of course, the first thing Ned does is round up the others. A stop at the Lodge to pull Aubrey into the van from her way back in from the woods, then straight to the ranger station to "charm" (read: annoy) Juno into letting them briefly borrow her walkie to request Duck's presence for lunch.

They meet at the diner, a tiny little thing that no chain has yet been to knock over.

"Waffles! Waffles!" Aubrey flops over onto the tabletop once their waiter leaves. " _God_ I've missed waffles."

"How can you miss waffles?" Duck asks, nudging the little jelly caddie further from Aubrey's little celebration. "You live at a hotel, aren't waffles, like, a continental breakfast staple?"

"Barclay doesn't make them." She sits up, pulling out some of the jelly packets and starting to build a miniature turret. "He says they've only got one waffle iron and it's a lot of effort for a little output, but secretly I think he's just not confident in his batter recipe."

"I mean, Wright's's been here longer than you have," Duck puts a grape in the middle of the layer of marmalade she's working on, causing a frown, "but alright."

"Also," Ned takes a dramatic pause as he carefully sets the last packet atop the tower, "Eggos."

Duck nods slowly in solemn recognition. "Eggos."

More banter fills the time until their food starts to arrive, at which point a brief skirmish breaks out as Aubrey's hash browns become everyone's hash browns, and then everyone is sated enough for Ned to begin his campaign to shed some responsibility.

"Now I'm sure you're wondering why I've gathered you all here today," he begins.

"It wasn't the waffles?" Duck says, sending a bemused glance at Aubrey next to him, who is too busy enthusiastically devouring said breakfast treat to notice.

"No."

Ned hoists the bag Mama had hoisted onto _him_ onto the table. It's a less effective move when Duck and Aubrey saw him lug it into the diner, but if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

There's a long pause as Aubrey swallows, then asks, "Going camping, Ned?"

"Not if I can help it." He shoves the bag across the table at the two of them. "Mama wants us camped out around the gate twenty-four seven for the foreseeable future, at least until the abomination shows up."

Duck nudges one of the attached flashlights away from his eggs. "Now did she really say us, or did she say you and you're now trying to share the blame?"

"She said us." A beat. "Okay, she wanted me to take first shift, but it's absolutely a group effort."

"What exactly does she expect us to find?" Aubrey says around a mouthful.

"Aubrey," Duck warns.

"What?" A drop of syrup lands on the pile of fries she'd stolen from Ned. "Oh, shit."

As Aubrey swallows and sticks her napkin in some water, Ned continues, "She seems to be under the impression that by watching the same bit of grass until our eyes dry out will summon the beast before us."

"It is a little concerning we haven't seen anything recently," Aubrey says. She tentatively pops one of the fries into her mouth, then holds another out to Duck. "Oh my god, here, try this."

"...Yeah alright, why not."

Duck eats the fry and his face goes through a series of visceral reactions in a very short time.

"I know." She wordlessly slides her plate over to Ned before he even reaches out. "So if we're not gonna camp out at the gate—"

"I kinda think we should."

"You would, Ranger Rick," Ned interjects, pouring syrup over the remainder of his fries.

"No, I mean it. We have no idea how these things really get here, this could be a real chance to get a jump on this month's spook and also maybe figure out how to stop them once and for all."

Ned gives Duck a look, wide-eyed, _don't do this_.

"No, think about it!" Duck sits up more. "We get some tents, we set up near the gate, we wait until the thing come out and watch it for a while, see if there's anything different about the gate, about the thing before it gets all agro, and then we take it down before it can get any further."

The longer he talks the more excited he gets, and then Duck and Aubrey look at each other, and Ned knows, in that moment, that there's a lot of nylon in his future if he loses anymore control of this situation.

"Camping trip slash bonding exercise?" Aubrey grins. "I could get into that."

And there it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't gonna post again so soon but I couldn't help it! I'm too excited! also this is the tone of the rest of the fic lmao so I wanted to set up that expectation early on: 80% things only I think are funny, 10% plot, 10% gay shit (forthcoming)


	3. reading the handwriting on the moon

Aubrey reluctantly gets her waffles to go, eating out of the open container the entire ride back to Duck's apartment. After thirty more seconds of the two of them bouncing ideas off each other, the consensus had been to head to Duck's for camping gear and privacy. (Also, Aubrey had been promised, syrup.)

"Ned, you mind getting the window?" Duck says as he heads straight for the hall closet. "AC's out, and with three bodies in here it's gonna get real hot real quick."

It's the first time Aubrey's been there, and the first time Ned's been in the door. It's... a little sad, but very Duck. The wildlife prints, the Park Service swag. There's a crochet blanket on the couch in ugly seventies colors that would look tacky anywhere else but fits Duck's entire aesthetic endearingly well. Ned feels the urge to go rooting through the bedroom closet just to see if there's something, _anything_ that doesn't mesh completely with the Duck Newton persona. (Said bedroom is currently shut to keep the cat in, which, again, is nauseatingly Duck.)

It'd probably be the talking sword, he guesses. Although even that...

To be fair, Aubrey feels the same urge to snoop, but that's just her general curiosity. She settles for investigating every one of the frames along the walls, which are mostly landscapes with the occasional snapshot of Duck and his sister.

While she's quasi-snooping, Duck's head emerges from the closet.

"Hey, Aubrey?"

"Yeah-huh?"

"You wanna grab me the stool from the kitchen?"

She does, catching a guilty Ned shutting the freezer, and returns in time to see a plastic shoe box land on Duck's head.

"Uh... Need some help?"

"Nah, I've got it," Duck waves her off down the hall. "You know, there's all sorts of trail mix-y stuff in the pantry if y'all wanna take a look."

"Please say there's chocolate," Ned calls out.

"Who do you think I am?"

"That's a yes," Aubrey points out, and Duck simply smiles. As Aubrey picks her way around the impressive amount of stuff on the hallway floor, she adds, "You've got a lot of this stuff, huh?"

"Despite what my sister alleges, I am not a pack rat." Duck sits among the duffels and packs and boxes and such and starts opening them. He pulls out all sorts of stuff that Aubrey has no idea about but assumes are various kinds of camping gear, judging by the general khaki and olive green color scheme. "I just believe that things shouldn't be thrown away if they've still got use."

Aubrey makes it to the kitchen just in time to see Ned raising his eyebrows at the rows of battered, well-loved ancient tupperware. He turns when he hears her and says under his breath, "Shocker."

After a few false starts, Aubrey opens one last cabinet and is greeted by a shelf of jars in varying sizes with varying trail mix-y contents.

"Jackpot! Okay, walnuts, peanuts, pecans. Does he not have cashews? Who has macadamia nuts but not cashews? Oh ew, white chocolate chips, gross, I— Ned? Are you okay?"

Ned is most definitely not okay. Ned is staring in horror at the window over the sink like he's just seen an eldritch horror rise up out of the garbage disposal, but when Aubrey looks there's just a kitchen.

"What?"

"Ook-lay at the ee-bay," Ned says out of the side of his mouth.

"The eBay...?"

"The bee, Aubrey, the _bee_."

Finally she sees it, sitting sedately on the windowsill.

"What, this little guy?" She leans over the sink and holds out her hand in front of the bee, who ignores her. "Aw, they can't hurt you, Ned. They're just a little baby."

"A baby I am incredibly allergic to."

"Oh shit, really?"

Ned nods rapidly, frozen in place, and Aubrey grimaces.

"Eeh, okay, hang on."

She sneaks past him to where there's a heavy stack of coupon circulars on the counter by the fridge. There's a juice glass next to some plants with a little water in it that she dumps out as soon as she's back at the sink.

"Just smush it," Ned shout-whispers.

"No!" Aubrey shout-whispers back, keeping her eyes on the bee (which has not moved). "I'm not gonna kill it if I don't have to."

"If you don't kill _it_ , _it's_ gonna kill _me_."

"Just hold on, okay?"

The edge of the papers touches the bee's feet and it immediately takes off, wings fluttering as it settles on the dish soap pump. It's only a few inches closer to Ned, but he flinches anyway.

"Aubrey, if you value your life, you will kill that bee," he says through gritted teeth.

" _My_ life?"

"Because if I die, I will haunt your ass until you have no choice but to die as well."

Aubrey squints, because that doesn't quite make sense, but rolls up the circulars anyway and approaches, whispering, "I am so sorry, I am so sorry, I am so sorry."

The good news is her aim is true. The bad news is the bee sees her coming and flits out of the way again, leaving Aubrey a clear shot of the soap pump, which fires foam all over the floor to add insult to injury.

"Uh..."

"No, no no no no no."

"Alright, well, it's not _that_ bad," Aubrey starts to say, but when she pulls her gaze away from the soapy mess, she stops in the face of the much worse, much more pressing issue at hand.

The bee is now on Ned's face—Ned, who is completely frozen.

"Are you sure?" Ned says in what would best be described as a restrained shout. "Cuz it looks pretty bad from where I'm standing."

The bee crawls closer to his ear and he screams with his mouth shut.

From the front hall, Duck calls out, "What are you two up to in there?"

"We're handling it!" Aubrey tightens the rolled up papers and raises her hand while whispering, "Stay still."

"Handling...?" Duck's sigh is clear as day. "Please try not to break anything."

The doorbell rings as Aubrey stalks closer, neither her nor Ned reacting to Duck's, "Whoop, hold on."

As she's about to strike, a voice from the doorway says, "You might want to get that checked out."

"Huh?" Ned asks just as Aubrey's makeshift swatter makes contact. "Shit!"

It's still a little jarring to see Indrid out and about in the world. Ever since he returned about a week ago, he's been oddly mobile. Maybe it's the warm weather, maybe it's something that happened while he was gone, or it has to do with the reason he left, but now he just... shows up places. Never the lodge, he still seems uncomfortable with all that, but they'll be out in the forest or looking into something in town and all of a sudden Indrid will be there, waiting for them. Duck ran into him outside the laundromat the other day and just stood there agog for long enough that Indrid had to (tentatively) slap him in the face.

Right now, swanning into Duck's kitchen, he looks almost normal—which, itself, makes the sight even more strange. That, and the fact that his regular tank top and jeans is paired with an insanely fuzzy, zig-zagged grey-and-white cardigan makes him look particularly moth-y.

"Thank you, O gracious oracle," Ned says, gingerly touching his bright red cheek and wincing. "Your prophecy is as useful as ever."

Aubrey has already run out, chanting "sorry" as she chases the bee into the living room. There's a short cascading clatter, a resounding smack, a cheer of victory, and one last "sorry" as she sheepishly reenters the room.

"It's fine," Duck says, still chuckling a little at Ned's indignant face even as he hands over an ice pack. "As long as you didn't break anything permanently."

"Right." She probably didn't step on any of the CDs, right? "Yeah, totally."

As she goes to drop the splattered paper in the trash, she catches a glimpse of the bug and grimaces.

"Aw, Ned," Aubrey turns her frown at him, "that wasn't a bee! It was a wasp, you were _fine_."

"Because getting stung in the face by a wasp is so much better than by a bee," Ned says, half-muffled by the numbing ice.

Duck surveys the counter for a moment before Indrid gestures at the fruit bowl, where he finds an almost mushy apple with a hole in the side. "Whoops."

"So is that why you're here?" Ned turns to Indrid. "You wanted to see me get smacked in the face?"

"Just an added bonus."

Indrid drops his faded messenger bag on the floor and hoists himself onto the counter, his feet swinging aimlessly until half a second before Duck's face twitches.

"First, I'd like to thank you all for not pressing too hard as to why I was away so long—" Indrid interrupts himself before Ned can. "No, I still will not sell you the rights for a 'Mothman Self-Discovery Road Trip' film."

While Duck and Aubrey shoot Ned a look and roll their eyes respectively, Indrid continues, "More important than why I left is why I've returned. Simply put, there is something... exceptionally weird going on."

"No shit," Ned says, but under his breath.

Lucky for him, the understatement of the year shifts focus, and Duck huffs a laugh. "You're the one shivering while wearing a cardigan in the middle of May."

"Duck Newton, you know that I am thin-skinned," Indrid says as he straightens to look him in the eye.

"Because he's a moth," Ned clarifies.

Indrid makes a face, like he saw that coming but had still been hoping it wouldn't. "I suppose."

Duck just shakes his head. "All I'm sayin' is I'm pretty sure that makes you the weird one."

"We're all plenty weird."

A moment as Indrid regretfully accepts Ned's offered high-five.

"Sure, that's sort of the point," Aubrey cuts in. "Can we get back to the issue at hand? How is this hunt 'exceptionally' weird?"

"It has…" Indrid looks thoughtful. "Far reaching consequences. Ones I can't necessarily see, but that made it the linchpin of more than your average amount of futures."

Ned raises an eyebrow. "Well _that's_ not worrying in the slightest."

"Yeah, pretty, uh, pretty apocalyptic there, my man," Duck says, "but sure, why not. Fate of the world and et cetera. Nothing we weren't already dealing with, I guess."

"How does that even work?"

"My sight is greatly impacted by physical proximity."

He unfolds one leg from under him and snags the strap of his bag with his foot, bringing it back up to his lap. From it he pulls out a Fruit by the Foot, which he begins mindlessly unspooling as he continues.

"The closer I am to a being, the more I can see of their specific future, rather than the grand scheme of things. That's why I lived in the woods for so long. However, despite being in the marshes of northern Florida, starting around a week ago I could see nothing but the three of you—Or, that is, the four of us."

When Indrid finishes his "explanation" he crumples the entire snack into one gummy mass and pops it in his mouth, not noticing the expressions in front of him which range from quiet admiration (Aubrey) and concerned but trying not to laugh (Duck) to just plain confused (Ned).

Aubrey is the first to recover. "Uh..."

"So," he continues, oblivious to their reaction, "has anyone seen anything suspicious recently?"

"Well," Duck starts counting things off on his fingers, "they found some mold at the pool, there's that new guy shopping around some food waste startup thingy, and the third grader's class pet died."

"No! Snuffles the gerbil?" Aubrey frowns.

"Yeah," Duck sighs, "Docker's not sure how he's gonna break the news when year starts and they all come back just to see the thing. But I can't imagine there was any foul play, outside of an accidental crayon snack or two."

"Aw, that's a shame."

"It's been foggy lately?" Ned chimes in. "That's pretty spooky."

"Eh, it's not that uncommon," Duck shrugs. "High relative humidity overnight, especially by the river, you tend to get a lot of that in the AM."

"I look out that window every morning and I'm telling ya, it's been way thicker lately."

"That may be—"

Aubrey might have a bit of precognition herself, because before Indrid can ask that they get back on track she says, "So we're on the lookout for some gerbil killing fog, got it. Should we head out?"

"Sure." Indrid shoves the crumpled wrapper into his bag and instead pulls out a sketchbook and pencil. "If you want to just start wundering the forest aimlessly, by all means, go ahead."

"I mean, you're kind of leading the charge here," Aubrey points out. "You're the one who can see into the future. Can't you tell us at least what direction to head?"

Indrid sighs, one hand coming up to adjust glasses that are no longer there before pushing through his hair instead.

"The nature of the abominations is, inherently, volatile," he says, absently sketching. "The way my sight works is concerned mostly with the probability of certain futures happening over others, but with so many possibilities that could change at the drop of a hat, it's sort of a moot point. I'll admit, sometimes it's possible to spot them in the negative, like finding a planet based on its gravitational effect on nearby bodies, but even then it is _very_ hard."

"You helped with the tree, though," Ned adds. Next to him Aubrey nods and points enthusiastically.

"Because it was purposefully changing the future in one specific way each time." Indrid tears off the sheet and crumples it. "I also got hit over the head with a shovel."

"Well..." Ned has no answer for that one. "Yeah, alright, that's fair."

"Look can we just— Can we get started? We'll ask around, maybe Kirby's got something, we'll find some Hornets, some townspeople, whatever, let's just _go_."

Aubrey is practically vibrating, and Ned looks eager to get cracking as well, but it doesn't take a clairvoyant to see that Duck has reservations. Interesting. Further evidence for the _Something Is Definitely Up With Duck But Until A Situation Arises In Which He Might Open Up There's No Way Of Knowing_ file.

She's out the door before Indrid finishes nodding, yelling over her shoulder triumphantly, "To the Cryptonomica!"

"See, folks, _that_ is how you're supposed to say it," Ned says, backing out of the room with an incredibly pleased expression. "The magic, the mystery, the superheroic ring."

When he gets no response but two blank stares he waves them off, saying, "Alright, we'll talk to Kirby and then check out the pool," and shutting the door behind him.

The apartment is quiet, the only sound one of Indrid's feet unconsciously tapping on the cabinet and Mrs. Pearson critiquing some TV procedural through the wall. It's unsettlingly unsettling; fifteen minutes of being full of people was apparently enough to shift Duck's entire idea of what "normal" in his own apartment is.

Duck was right, too. It had gotten warmer.

"Duck?"

"Huh?"

Indrid has put down his pad and is looking straight at Duck, unblinking. He's definitely just said something, but Duck has no idea what, and instead of trying to act like he heard, he changes the subject completely.

"Right, uh... We should probably still check out the forest by the gate too, eventually. Just in case."

A breeze runs through the apartment, suddenly chill as a cloud glances over the sun, and Indrid shivers, finally breaking eye contact.

"You alright?"

"Absolutely."

"I can shut the window, if you want," Duck's innate amiability takes over in the perceived awkwardness. "Or I guess we could just go."

"Yes." Indrid hops off the counter. "Let's find ourselves a monster."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as the wise richard siken would say, Here I Am Leaving You Clues
> 
> all of them have the propensity to but I swear to god 98% of the time griffin says "wander" he pronounces it "wunder" and it's so fucking endearing I love it


	4. make my living in the valley

Their initial searches don't turn up much. There's nothing at the school (that they can see through the windows) or at the gerbil grave out back (which is just depressing), nothing at the pool, nothing at the hotel where the startup kid is staying. Okay, there's a union meeting in one of the conference rooms that Indrid foresees being momentarily empty soon, trays of pastries left unguarded, but nothing supernatural.

They're gathered in the parking lot of said hotel, sitting all along the bumper of the van's open back doors and eating their contraband treats: Ned, Indrid, Duck, Aubrey, each with a delicious consolation prize.

"Y'know," Duck says, swallowing another bite of cheese danish, "there's still the gate."

Ned dusts his hands of any lingering crumbs with a frown. "I thought we decided against camping."

"You decided," Aubrey points out, but Duck just shrugs.

"Guess we could go without you tomorrow," he says, "since you've got the show."

Ned considers lying, starts to nod, then sighs. He really has gone soft.

"Well, Saturday Night Dead is on hiatus for a few weeks, actually," he explains, growing into his usual amount of seemingly grand authority. "Building antici... pation, if you will. We'll be back in June with a week-long marathon special, ending with Rocky Horror which (though much more mainstream than our usual fate) is a classic for good reason, and a good starting place for those new to the B-movie horror sub-genre."

"Oh I see what you did there with the—" Duck nods. "Right, well I was gonna say we'd go without you, but if you're off _that_ hook..."

"Also, you have jam in your beard," Aubrey adds, clearly having been holding onto that one awhile.

"Irrelevant." He leans back to grab some loose napkins from the floor of the van. "We can go tonight, I'll come, of course, support the team, but... If Mama and Barclay haven't seen anything out there in months, what are the odds we will?"

"Better now that I'll be there." Indrid wipes his hands on his jeans and then pats his lap definitively. "No offense to your friends, but I know more about the magic of Sylvane than any of them. If there's something wrong, I'll be able to tell."

"Yeah?" Aubrey leans far forward to look at him. "You sure? I know you're not super cool with being there."

Indrid waves her off. "I know where I belong. Besides, we'll have to go at night anyway for the moon. No one need know I'm there."

"Are you intimidated by Mama too?" Ned asks under his breath, head tilted down as though that will do anything to make it any harder for the others to hear.

Indrid leans in too and grins. "Madeline doesn't scare me. I just wouldn't want any... unresolved history to derail your investigation."

"Then we're doing this!" Aubrey hops up, boots thudding against the pavement.

"To the Cryptonomica!" Ned adds, but she shakes her head.

"Too soon since the last time."

"Alright, fine."

* * *

By the time they pull up to the Cryptonomica the sun is finally beginning to set and they have some semblance of a concrete plan.

"Okay." Aubrey claps her hands, a spark or two escaping. "I'll go call Mama, let her know not to worry about anyone rustling around out back tonight, it'll be us. Duck, you're grounded so you don't give anything away while I'm on the phone, and Ned, you're grabbing flashlights. Sound good?"

Everyone turns to Indrid.

"Indrid?" Aubrey waves her hand in front of her face. "Buddy?"

"Mhm." Indrid hasn't looked away from the future since they got back in the van, the pupils of his eyes shrunken to pinpoints and his sketchbook in his lap.

"Hey." Duck nudges the arm that's not actively drawing. When he looks up, his eyes snap back open, seeing the present again.

Aubrey grimaces. "That's never gonna not be freaky."

"The plan," Duck says before they get on this again.

"Oh. Yes. No, yes, a good plan." He waves at them, back to reviewing his visions. "Carry on."

Aubrey and Ned hop out of the van and Indrid goes back to sketching, leaving Duck to twiddle his thumbs and try to resist the urge to peek over Indrid's shoulder.

Instead he ends up watching Indrid, which is probably creepier, but Duck kind of can't help it. Indrid has been different since he got back. He's sociable, out in the world, though whether that's due to his having reached out and befriended the three of them, or something that happened while he was gone, or just the warm weather is anybody's guess.

It's not only that, though; he _looks_ different. Since he had to remake his charm on the run (now a small, silver hoop earring) his disguise is slightly off what it had been before. Still pretty gaunt, he's a little shorter, his face a little wider, his hair fluffier and longer (though that may be the passage of time).

The most noticeable difference is his eyes—namely, that they're visible. It's weird seeing them all the time (a surprisingly dark grey that is almost purple in bright light) but it's also kind of nice. Makes him seem more real. Present. It helps that he hasn't been talking much about the future and whatever. He's still weird as hell, sure, but not so creepily omniscient. Just a normal-ish guy who seems to have conveniently forgotten the insanity of what happened last time they saw each other.

Duck just can't stop feeling guilty. It gets worse when they're alone—Ned is naturally good at diffusing tension, and Aubrey always has some kind of subject change at the ready, so whatever awkwardness Duck feels is usually quickly repressed. With no distraction, though, Duck can feel himself sinking into the quicksand that is the looming knowledge he will soon make a fool of himself.

He kind of feels like he has to though? It's been eating him away inside, so he only makes it a few minutes into the silence before he blurts, "Listen, I wanna apologize for the whole glasses thing."

Indrid stiffens, still drawing, but his eyes are back to normal and his other hand drifts up to his ear.

"I mean—"

"No, it's fine." Indrid interrupts. "You sold it to a giant cat for some dope magic shit to help you save the world, I get it. Besides, you knew I could always make a new one."

Duck hadn't considered the latter part before, and based on Indrid's expression, he knows too. There's no underlying hard feelings to be found, however, as Indrid flickers a smile at him.

"Look," he says. "I'll admit it took a while for my eyes to adjust to the general brightness of everything, but it's nice to not have to worry about waking up transformed simply because I fell asleep on my side and my glasses fell off."

He pauses, looking down at the drawing in his lap that he's been adding to mindlessly, a briefly looks at a loss. Before Duck can figure out anything to say, Indrid grins again as a thought strikes him. "Also, it's pretty badass, right?"

"...Sure."

To be honest, it looks a bit more "Hot Topic clearance bin" than it does "badass" what with the whole monochrome-and-red color scheme he often has going on, but it makes Indrid grin wider, and to be honest, it does suit him.

Before Indrid disappears back into the visions, Duck says, "And it's not 'our' investigation. It's yours too."

Indrid looks surprised, a feeling that sits uncomfortably on his face. Duck gets the idea it's not something he feels often, which makes sense, obviously, but… Well, it looks good on him. That's all.

He blinks once, twice, and his arm jerks before he places a hand on Duck's shoulder and says in a way that is both touched and a little goofy, "Thank you, Duck."

Duck half-smiles and nods once, interrupted when the door clunks open, at which point he flushes and looks away. As Aubrey and Ned climb aboard, Indrid laughs once and flips through his sketchbook, eventually tearing out a single sheet very carefully.

"Here."

He hands it to Duck, whose face gets somehow redder when he sees the drawing is of that exact moment of odd embarrassment. It's in finer detail than the rest, which Duck supposes means it was more stable, something that was gonna happen in a lot of futures, which is even worse.

"Keep it," Indrid says. The van starts before Duck can ask why. He does, however, fold it up neatly and tuck it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

* * *

The drive to Amnesty Lodge is uneventful. No monster attacks, no weird premonitions. It probably says something that they're all a little disappointed by that, but such is their life.

Indrid hangs back as the others hop out of the van, which Aubrey almost comments on until she spots Mama standing up in the doorway. Aubrey waves as they head around back, where Indrid catches up with them after a moment.

They make their way deeper into the forest, Indrid slowing occasionally to pick up a lost earring or point out a still pool of water that "I don't know how no one's noticed, but there's serious energies coming off that thing" in case anything happens to the springs again. Crickets have returned with the warming weather, their occasional chirping filling the silence between Indrid's comments.

The nearer they get to the gate, however, the quieter he becomes, until they reach the edge of the clearing. Indrid stops right where the cover of the trees does, the other three continuing a few steps past him before they realize.

"Find something?" Ned asks.

"No, it's just..." One of Indrid's hands wraps around the crystal hanging from his neck. "It's been a while."

Sadness is not an emotion any of them have seen from him before. There was regret, certainly, when he first explained Silver Bridge, and the limits of his powers, but not the kind of melancholy his face carries now. One by one the three of them realize they don't really know Indrid at all, a realization that carries with it an equal amount of regret and concern.

Then Indrid shakes his head, nods, and says, "Right."

Shutting off his flashlight and handing it to Duck, Indrid quickly crosses the clearing. He lays one hand on the stone, then the other, letting go of his necklace. Real moonlight isn't as bright as it is in the movies and it's nearing midnight, but it's not hard to see his exact face as a dim orange glow is cast over him and the rock under his hands. It's coming from the crystal shard, although Indrid doesn't seem to notice.

Duck leans over to Aubrey and asks under his breath, "It supposed to do that?"

She shrugs, but Ned says, "Oh I forgot about that, yeah."

"You've seen this before?"

"Barclay was using his like some kind of dowsing rod when I first got sucked into this mess."

"And it hasn't come up 'til now?" Aubrey says a little louder.

"Hang on," Duck says over the start of her next sentence, "so the glowing means an abomination's nearby?"

"I don't know! He'd say something then, right? Maybe it's," Ned wiggles his fingers in the air, "general magic."

They both look at Aubrey again, who says, "I'm not, like, an expert! I still barely understand how my own magic works!"

"You've been over there the most out of us—"

"And you _touched_ it—"

"Yeah, but I didn't—"

"There's nothing," Indrid interrupts, suddenly right in front of them and ignoring their startled looks. "The gate was active not too long ago, but there's been nothing strange or malicious nearby in a while. ...You want to ask about my necklace."

Their collective innocence act falls immediately.

"Which one of us broke first?" Ned asks.

"No visions involved. You just all look _very_ guilty and Aubrey can't stop staring at it like she's never seen a rock before."

Indrid starts back toward the lodge, the rest of them catching on pretty quickly. As he's walking, he says, "Before the attack on Sylvane, there were deposits at the base of the Heart where smaller crystals would grow and be harvested for diplomats and researchers headed through the gate. They would act in place of the natural sources of energies like the hot springs and what have you so that emissaries could travel farther, gathering information."

Aubrey jogs ahead a few steps to be even with him. "Is that how Barclay got his?"

Stepping neatly over a tangle of tree roots, Indrid turns around to tilt his head at her.

"Oh, I have no fucking idea."

Ned snorts as Indrid continues, "Most were destroyed in the initial attack, and the few that survived are incredibly precious. I suppose it's part of his assignment at the lodge, but I haven't been in contact with Sylvane in several decades."

The three of them exchange an awkward look behind his back, silently arguing for a moment over who should say something.

"It's fine," Indrid says without looking back. "I was officially exiled after Silver Bridge, threat to national security, you know how it goes, but I had already been living solely on Earth for a very long time. No great loss."

"Sure..."

Now they _definitely_ all feel like someone should say something, but the lodge is in sight, and as they come up around the side Aubrey rushes ahead and says, "You know what? I'll just go make sure no one's looking. Seeya tomorrow!"

"And I'll get the van started." Ned is right behind her, making a _do something_ face at Duck as he passes.

Duck, of course, does not know how to do something, and stares silently at the ground when they stop just shy of the lodge's facade. He's about to just start talking and see what comes out when Indrid sighs.

"I'm _fine_ , Duck Newton," he says. "There's no need to worry about me."

"Who, me? Worried?" Duck can feel the urge to lie coming but can't stop it. "I wasn't, I just, uh, had some bad... cream cheese, earlier, that's all."

"We've been together all day," Indrid points out with half of half a smile. "I know you didn't."

"Nah it was in my. Pocket?"

"Duck."

"Alright, just..." He sighs and shifts back to serious mode. "If you ever wanna talk about it, any of us would be glad to listen."

Indrid's smile grows tighter, but not unkindly. "And I appreciate that, but I'm fine."

With that he walks away, towards where the van's headlights pop on a second later, leaving no room for argument.

* * *

The trailer door shuts when Indrid leans all his weight back against it. It has been... a long day. He hadn't expected being on the hunt to be so _emotionally_ taxing, although he certainly should have known being involved with anything so closely related to Sylvain would bring up forgotten feelings.

It was because he was in such a good mood to start with, Indrid mused as he started tearing now defunct futures off the wall and pinning up the few he'd drawn throughout the day. It had been fun, being part of the team, and he'd let himself get carried away in forgetting everything else that was going on.

It had been normal. He had been normal, until the lodge had come into view. Then came the nervous energy—the psychic glitter of dozens of magical artifacts and beings flashing in the back of his mind—and the growing heart-stopping presence of the gate.

Indrid had forgotten how it felt. There weren't quite words for it, but the closest he could come was it was like the smell of burnt caramel if it were a physical feeling. It was warm and tingly but sharp at times, pins and needles and then actual needles. It was like when one is humming, and then realizes they're humming and can feel their skin vibrating, but all over. It was power beyond belief, and that's not even taking into account the emotional draw of the only place one's people has felt at home.

(It's not even home to him now. It hasn't been in a very long time, he loves this planet and the people who live on it, it's just... The earth there holds so much history, a physical feeling under every footstep that says, "This is where you came from," and he hasn't heard that in a long time.)

The drawings left in Indrid's sketchbook are simply drawings—no vision involved. They're rougher than his usual fair, sketchier; though his usual predictive drawings can end up little abstract at the edges, there is a deliberateness to the lines. When he draws for "fun" so to speak, usually doodling futures that are no longer possible but interesting nonetheless, he has no vision to copy from, and so they end up fuzzier, approximated lines rather than stark contours.

Right now there are a few of the river as seen from the Cryptonomica and the patches of Aubrey's jacket. A few pages back there is a larger sketch of a bat Indrid had found hanging from the small awning over his window the other morning and one of top of Duck's head and part of his face, leaned over laughing at something Indrid had said. They're just little things, but he keeps them in the back of his book for when the futures are too varied, too intense, and he needs something to take him out of it. Something small and nice: the memory of Duck's hair shining in the light and falling over his forehead, the echo of a laugh behind the graphite.

Indrid almost wants to draw the gate—get the hum and phantom feeling of wind gusts out of his system—but it doesn't take a clairvoyant to know he won't. Somehow he gets the feeling his hands wouldn't be able to hold the pencil right. Instead, he turns on another space heater and goes to bed as the sun drifts up in the sky.

* * *

Ned pulls into the parking lot of the Cryptonomica alone around five in the morning as the fog starts drifting up from the river. He considers snapping a couple pictures to show Duck later when he notices the other car in the lot, a dark green coupe that looks vaguely familiar.

"Mr Chicane," a voice calls. There's a man with dark curly hair leaning against the wall by the front door, the sleeves of his blue and white checked button down rolled up to his elbows. Not nice enough looking to be a fed, but still, Ned doesn't trust anyone who wears a tie.

"That would depend on who it is asking."

"Bryce Baylor, Natural Beauty Box subscription service." He sticks out his hand as he walks over to Ned. "Got a minute to talk? I've got a business proposal I think you'll be interested in."

Ned twirls his keys around one finger contemplatively. Like recognizes like, but he didn't have to see the man to know he was running a scam. Still...

"Let's hear it then."

He sweeps one arm out toward the door. The windows reflect the fog swirling as they pass through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ik travis and griffin established ooc that mama knows they talked to indrid but ! I've decided to ignore that for My Own Nefarious Purposes. also this was already au but it DEFINITELY is NOW, GRIFFIN
> 
> the /18 chapters is tentative—I keep having to expand scenes as I work back in plot, but I know vaguely what I want to happen in each chapter. the wip doc is over 20k now! oh god what have I done!
> 
> oh! ah! also! there is a not-so-sneaky reference to a very wonderful fic, bonus points if you get it


	5. the columns in the morning star

Day three, morale is low. Mama's antsy cynicism has begun to rub off on them all and none of them gets a good night's rest, particularly Indrid. But Saturdays excuse late starts and so, without discussing it, they party line a little before noon.

Duck starts, "Alright, well, what've we got."

"Box boy," Aubrey puts up.

"Working on it," Ned says.

"Really?" Indrid asks.

"We met last night. He's obviously a fraud (like recognizes like) but I'm looking into it."

"Anything else?" Duck prompts.

"I've noticed some patterns in the possible futures," Indrid says. "A few people and places that show up across several outcomes. Couldn't hurt to look into some of them."

"Oh, and Barclay said I should talk to Leo," Aubrey adds. "Not _necessarily_ anything spooky, he just said there was something about the lodge's groceries being late, and that doesn't sound like Leo."

When no one responds after several moments, Duck nods to himself. "Good talk."

They meet in the middle of town, Aubrey carrying a tray of the lodge's good coffee. After a few sips in silence, Ned says, "Well... See you later," and they go their separate ways, Ned and Aubrey to Leo's and Duck and Indrid to the list of things common across Indrid's visions.

They make it half a block before Indrid says, "Just ask."

"Who's to say I... Yeah, alright, you mind if I get some errands out of the way before we head out?"

"Sure, we'll just tack it on the end of the list," Indrid shrugs. "Buy some batteries and groceries, pick up the dry cleaning, find out what monster is threatening the existence of everyone in town."

He punctuates the statement by pulling a juice pouch from his bag, sticking it with the little straw, and sucking the whole thing dry in one go.

"You have got the metabolism of a bumblebee."

Another ten steps in the direction of the bridge at the other end of town, which Indrid has an empty drawing or two of. Neither of them says anything, Duck because there's a half-familiar memory sneaking in and Indrid because he can just _feel_ the joke coming.

"Heh, hey, you know what uh," Duck laughs a little. "You know what we used to call fruit punch kind of stuff like that when I was a kid?"

Indrid stares at him blankly. "What did you call it, Duck?"

" _Bug juice_."

He's laughing even as he says it, wheezy and unstoppable, and even though it's a joke Indrid's heard about a dozen times already, he can't help smile a little—not at the joke, just Duck's reaction.

When he starts to calm down, Indrid says, completely deadpan, "Good one."

"Thanks, man, I try." A beat, then he continues, "Were you serious about it being cool if I run some errands? Cuz I actually do have dry cleaning."

Indrid is already walking that direction, grinning over his shoulder at Duck. Of course he is. And of course Duck follows.

* * *

On the opposite side of town, Aubrey and Ned are gratefully stepping into the blissful aircon of the General Store, Ned's scarf (lightweight in deference to the weather) fluttering gently as the doors whoosh open. Just thinking the name in capitals like that makes Aubrey feel peaceful—don't get her wrong, she'd always rather live in the future, but the occasional twinge of quaint old timey-ness that one gets while living in Kepler is nice.

Plus, it's nice to just see the place up and running. Leo's check had come through pretty soon after some kind soul at the insurance company had read his letter about being the only grocery store in town, and the construction company he'd hired had much the same reaction. It looks pretty much exactly the same (though Leo had remarked to Duck one evening after a couple beers that the black-and-white tiles were really more dark blue-and-white), like a Pizza Hut sign had never tore its way through the roof and nearly killed its proprietor.

Said proprietor is standing at one of the coolers at the front, restocking the strawberry cheesecake ice cream bars. He looks up when they enter and waves.

"Hey Ned, Aubrey," Leo says, wiping the condensation off his hands, "how's it been?"

"That's what we were just about to ask you." Ned's cheerful tone has all the subtleness of a semi-truck on fire crashing through a glass facade, and Leo glances over at the kid behind the register and the pair of PTA parents hanging around the bread aisle right behind them, obviously eavesdropping.

"I gotta—" He jerks a thumb at the back of the store and hefts one of the ice cream boxes under one arm. "You mind?"

"Sure, let me grab that."

Aubrey takes the other box and follows him to the stockroom, Ned trailing behind, empty handed and unbothered.

"So." Leo drops his box on the table next to the walk-in freezer. "Are you guys on the hunt, or did Barclay send you down here to give me shit about the groceries?"

"No shit will be given," Ned says as he tucks his hand neatly into his pockets. "We're simply here as an investigative task force looking into," he makes half an effort to lower his voice, "our friendly neighborhood monster problem."

Leo nods wryly at the lack of subtlety he's come to expect from Ned. "Right, it's been a minute, huh?"

"Mama's having us take a proactive approach," Aubrey explains, "asking around, chasing down any spooky leads, that sort of thing."

"Well..."

Ned leans in. "Mhm?"

"Someone's been..." Leo scratches his head. "It sounds silly to be complaining about, but somebody's been stealing from the dumpster out back?"

Aubrey blinks, then slowly asks, "Huh?"

"Yeah," Leo shrugs. "I dunno for how long, but a few days ago I caught somebody in a hoodie rooting around out there. Chased 'em off with a bat, but they came back last night too."

"...Why?"

He laughs a little at the bizarreness of the situation. "Hell if I know! But if the abominations are enlisting goatmen and walkin' around in people forms and whatever now, it might be something."

"Any idea what it is they might've taken?" Ned asks, but Leo is shaking his head before he gets halfway through.

"Y'know, Ned, it hasn't occurred to me before now to keep a record of everything I throw away. All I know is they made a real mess of things back there and I had to clean up all the remaining bruised fruit and stained boxes again with my back how it is." Leo sighs, hands on his hips, and his eyes drift over to catch the box on the desk—the box of ice cream that's been sitting out their entire conversation. He closes his eyes and gestures uselessly at the table. "And now this."

"Oh!" Aubrey can't keep from grinning. "Mind if I try something?"

"Try something..." Leo squints. "Like what?"

"Uh. Magic?"

Leo looks startled for a second. "You—" Then he blinks. "Ah, forgot about that. Sure, knock yourself out."

Taking a deep breath, Aubrey places one hand on the box. With her eyes shut, she tries to feel every fleck of pulp in the damp cardboard, the cracks in the printed label from tiny bouts of freezing and thawing. She tries to feel the water inside it, how it is all drawn together, how every molecule is connected to each other and to everything. She asks, very clearly in her mind, for them all to move more slowly.

"Oh shit."

Aubrey's eyes snap open and... yeah, that sounds about right. Her hand is now stuck to a two inch thick wall of ice surrounding the box.

"Dang it!"

"Hang on," Ned interrupts, his hand quickly covering hers before she reflexively tries to pull back. "Don't do something you'd regret."

Aubrey and Leo both cringe, the latter saying, "Yeah, uh, I'll get you some warm water."

As soon as Leo disappears back into the store, Aubrey groans, back bending so her forehead hovers just above the ice next to her stuck hand.

"A little bit of warm water and you'll be good as new." Ned pats her back consolingly and her head pops back up.

"No, I know, I just…" Aubrey sighs. "I got so excited, I thought it would work."

"It did! To an extent."

They pause as the sunken mood sets in, but then Ned puts his hand on Aubrey's shoulder and smirks, saying, "Have I ever told you about the time I tried to pickpocket David Blane?"

Aubrey, not believing a word of it, still smiles. "What did you find?"

"Well, as you know, it's not my typical mode of thievery..."

"Uh huh..."

Before Ned gets too far into a ridiculous story involving a shot glass of pudding mix, Warren Beatty in a hot tub, and two identical goldfish, Leo reappears.

"Alright," he says, both hands careful around a styrofoam cup, "I got some of the hot water from the, we got a thing out there for tea and stuff, but then I added some cold water so it wouldn't be, y'know, scalding."

They melt Aubrey free in no time, though no amount of hot water is enough to excused the lingering hints of an embarrassed flush around her cheeks.

"Right. So. Garbage."

* * *

Indrid hasn't been to many small town dry cleaners, but he imagines this one is pretty archetypal. The posters for the middle school musical and a fire sale at the bookstore in the next town over neatly lining the windows, the hours of operation sign whose neat dry erase numbers are faded, not having needed change since their first writing.

Duck holds open the door and artificial cold air mixes with the heat coming off the sidewalk. The smell of some clean smelling detergent (Mountain Spring, if Indrid had to guess) barely masks that of dry air and chemicals in the peculiar mixture native to all dry cleaners.

Inside there's a lanky twenty-something manning the counter, curly head bent over a thick sketchbook. When the bell over the door jingles, they look up and smile. "Heya Duck."

"Hey Elliot. Still studying?"

"Yeah." They shrug and heave the book shut. "Gotta get ahead on next year. Portfolios and projects come fast and furious second year, gonna try to stay ahead."

"Well you keep at it."

Elliot smiles. "Will do, Duck. Lemme grab your shirts real quick first, though."

"I'd appreciate that, yeah."

Indrid has been smiling bewilderedly throughout the exchange and only turns to address Duck once Elliot is out of sight.

"Do you know the daily concerns of _every_ person in this town?" He asks.

"Not on _purpose_. People just like talking to me, I guess." Duck's not really embarrassed, per se. Nothing to be embarrassed about. He's just a little self-conscious. "It's a small town, that's all."

"Yes. You're... very affable."

"Now when you say it it sounds like a bad thing."

"Not on purpose," Indrid grins.

Duck starts to roll his eyes, then laughs.  "Oh I see what you did there—"

"It was good, right?"

"Yeah, you sure got me."

They're still smiling at each other, Duck shaking his head wryly, when Elliot returns with plastic-wrapped group of hangers with short-sleeved button downs, mostly his uniform brown but with one dark green shirt with little white dots that look suspiciously like adorable little deer.

"Here we go." Elliot lays the bundle on the counter.

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it."

"No problem, Duck." Elliot carefully types the number on the ticket stub into the ancient computer. "It was a nice break, to be honest. We've been getting some real tough stains recently, it was almost relaxing to not have to deal with mud or weird black goo."

Indrid spins around so fast that the laws of gravity must be taking a break, because otherwise he'd've absolutely wiped out, no shoes have that much traction. "Goo?"

"Oh, yeah," Duck says, "Elliot, this is Indrid, he's a... friend of mine, from out of town." It's not technically a lie, so he gets it out relatively smoothly.

Elliot nods and Indrid blinks expectantly, asking again after a second, "Goo?"

"Oh, yeah," Elliot shuffles on their stool. "A buncha people have been bringing in all sorts of stuff with these weird black stains? It looked like some of that glue slime stuff everyone's into these days, but pitch black and impossible to get off. Most people've just left their stuff here in hopes we'll figure a way to get rid of it, but no dice yet."

"May I see some?"

"You wanna...? You wanna see a stain?"

Elliot laughs awkwardly and looks to Duck for guidance. Duck, however, simply stares back with an equally intent look, in full investigative mode.

"I mean," they continue, now a little confused, "it's just a stain, man, but alright."

As Elliot disappears into the racks of hanging laundry, Duck asks Indrid, "So what exactly does 'goo' mean to you?"

"Well usually it's a sticky substance, viscous—"

"No, I mean—" Duck gestures fruitlessly. "You looked like 'goo' rang a bell, monster wise."

Indrid grins like he knows exactly what he's doing, and says over Duck's faux-serious reprimanding look, "You see it occasionally in shape-shifters. A product of the transformation, the matter and energy expended in going from a larger form to a smaller one sometimes creates dark gelatinous substances of varying viscosities."

"So shape-shifting makes black goo," Duck condenses just as Elliot returns with a few hangers. "Now what're we gonna do about that?"

Judging by their raised eyebrows, Elliot heard at least some of that conversation. As they're about to open their mouth, Indrid tilts his head toward Duck, eyes on Elliot as he says, "Not in front of the children, dear."

Duck does a double take just as Elliot's suspicion turns to bemusement. The statement fulfills its role as both distraction and diversion, but then a particularly interesting future bubbles to the surface and Indrid can't help but grin as he slowly inspects the edges of the stained shirt Elliot has brought out.

"You know," he says, looking up at Duck, "with the glasses, I didn't realize how often you blush."

"I don't—" And he does. "Oh, you definitely did _that_ on purpose."

"Absolutely."

For a moment they simply smile at each other, not noticing Elliot's growing awkwardness as they stare at the ceiling politely. Then Indrid squints into his smile (both partially to mask his shrinking pupils and as the period to the end of an unspoken sentence) and grabs the shirt as he turns away.

"Time to find the others," he says under the sound of the bell chiming overhead.

After Duck blinks away the afterimage of Indrid's grin, he looks back to Elliot. He expects to see some worry at the very least, if not outright disapproval of Indrid just... stealing random people's clothes, but Elliot is just looking at him with the same bemusement with a heavy dash skepticism that is even now already dissipating.

"Sorry about him, he's uh..."

"It's cool." Elliot smiles, one hand hovering around the receipt to tear it off when its finished printing. "Y'all are sweet. My mom's always going on about 'that Duck Newton, such a sweetheart, shame he doesn't have somebody, all alone out in that little apartment of his'—" A panicked glint flickers in their eyes. "Not that she thinks you're sad!"

They have nothing to worry about, as Duck Newton has left the building, mentally speaking.

"I... Huh?"

"She just thinks what with how nice you are, it's a shame for you to be lonely, so it's nice to know you're not." Smiling shyly, they shrug and hand Duck his receipt. "He seems nice! Kinda weird, maybe, but aren't we all?"

Duck's hand reflexively closes around the receipt though his mind is still rebooting. His ghost, meanwhile, is three blocks away and still running.

Elliot continues, "I mean, he's really not allowed to just take other people's shirts like that, but I guess if you're—"

"Yeah I'll make sure you get it back, no worries, I should probably—" Duck grabs his shirts off the counter, his hands slightly sweaty and not getting a great grip on the plastic wrapping. "Yep, alright, good talkin' to you as always, Elliot, bye."

"Seeya Duck!"

He hurries out, missing their slightly devious but mostly amused smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys it's been a minute huh! but I'm all finished finals and a last minute week-long drive up and down the east coast and into canada lmao, so I'm back! and looking over where I left off I've got a lot of work to do but all the time in the world to do it amen
> 
> (elliot is, of course, my babiest [twoamhoney](https://twoamhoney.tumblr.com/), bc I needed a name and as soon as I borrowed theirs their Energy fucking manifested in my home with a knife cat grin. love u babes.)
> 
> (also I'm a couple episodes behind so 1. no spoilers please and 2. either way we're FIRMLY canon divergent lmao)


	6. keep track of your telephone bill

"Alright, fine." Aubrey turns to Ned. "What about you?"

They're standing next to Duck's car (in which Duck and Indrid are already sitting) in the Cryptonomica's parking lot, which has apparently become their de facto meeting spot. Parking lot is maybe a bit generous—it's a bunch of gravel out front of the building, but it's always conveniently empty, and in the glow of the porch lights it feels less sketchy than it looks.

Ned ruefully shakes his head. "No can do, friend. I have plans: drinks with the upstart startup gentleman later."

"Really?" Duck, about to drive Indrid home, stops to squint at Ned. "You're gonna get drunk with a suspect? That's your investigation technique?"

" _I'm_ not going to drink. Please, Duck, _I_ am a responsible adult—"

"Not sure either part of that is true."

"—so naturally I'll just be getting him drunk so he'll spill any and all secrets he may have."

"Yeah, _definitely_ neither."

As Duck and Ned argue about responsibility or something, Aubrey hops around to the passenger side and awkwardly drums on the open window.

"Hey, Indrid?" She makes the bare minimum amount of eye contact. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

A single look at her odd demeanor has him stepping out of the car. "Of course."

They step up to the bench on the porch, unnoticed by the others. Aubrey looks about to make a joke about the bugs flitting around the lights above them before the sun has even set but seemingly thinks better of it as a seriousness comes over her. This happens, sometimes, at the end of long days where the usual weight of responsibility gets that much heavier.

"You would..." She sighs and fiddles with a clasp on one of her gloves. "You'd tell us if something _really_ bad was gonna happen, right?"

"The moment I knew for certain that something cataclysmic was going to happen, I would tell you," Indrid says plainly. "Believe me, I'd want it to happen as little as any of you would, and if there were anything to stop it that it was within my power to warn you of, I would say so."

Aubrey doesn't quite believe it, which is fair; there's something strange about the way he says it. "I know you don't like getting involved—"

"I don't mind getting involved," Indrid interrupts, "but in the past my warnings have done more harm than good. You three are the exception, rather than the rule."

His attempt at a smile does little to reassure her, although she can't help the "Is this awkward or is it funny?" half-smirk she makes in response.

"It's just, my magic— It's not great. I worry that one of these days _it's_ going to do more harm than good, that if my concentration flickers for even a second it'll send everything..."

 _Up in smoke_ is how that sentence was going to end, but she can't bring herself to say it: to open that door.

Indrid's smile relaxes. Aubrey can't tell if he saw what she was going to say, but there's kindness in his voice nevertheless as he says, "Yes, Aubrey. I can provide you with any 'in the field' assistance you may need."

The moment starts to drag, the only sounds Duck and Ned's now quiet conversation and light bulbs buzzing. In the quiet Aubrey swears she can feel the river flowing behind them, the pulse of it as it jumps over rocks and fallen branches. She's been working harder at her situational awareness, meditation crap like Buffy where she clears her head as much as possible (so, about the level of business everyone else experiences daily) and stretches out her mind to the power of the river, the heart of Sylvain, the springs, the air. The (figurative and literal) touchstones around her that she can ground herself and her magic with.

After even a short moment of this, Aubrey feels herself straighten up in her seat, turning back to Indrid, who has been staring into the distance, not in time, just in space.

Aubrey clears her throat. "There was something else I wanted to ask you..."

When Indrid makes no attempt to stop her, she continues, "The other night at the gate, I've seen that expression before, on Dani when she talks about Sylvain. If you ever wanna..."

"Oh no, Aubrey Little, I'm fine, really." Indrid waves her off, but she persists.

"Well I know you're all alone out there in your trailer! If you ever wanted to talk to somebody about it, I'm all ears, Dani too—you know, she draws too, you'd like her."

"I'm sure that's true, Aubrey, but really I'm fine. It had just been a while since I'd seen the gate and felt its presence, the closeness of Sylvain. It caught me off guard. That's all."

Aubrey doesn't look any more willing to letting it drop, so he stands and adds, "There's nothing to say."

By the time she thinks of a response, Indrid is already gone.

* * *

Though it only recently became the _official_ only bar in town, Claudia's is still as populated as it is on any other Saturday night. The night air is warm, an unofficial patio situation popping up in the parking lot next to the propped open fire exit door, a couple people sat at card tables enjoying the breeze.

Ned passes a few vaguely familiar faces on his way in, all chatting and drinking, vaguely picturesque. He hasn't been there many times in the past few years, not since inheriting the Cryptonomica. Victoria had dragged him out a couple times after the initial paranoia wore off, and he popped in when he was craving a real cocktail, but it's not a regular "hang" for him, so to speak. (Oddly enough, Ned "Friendly" Chicane hasn't many friends.)

He's grateful, then, when he immediately spots Bryce at the far end of the bar. Awkwardness avoided.

"Mr Chicane!" Bryce's raised hand flicks over to the beer next to him. "I've got a spot with your name on it."

A few other heads turn, glancing at Bryce before setting their sights on Ned. The sudden attention makes him nervous, which then makes him plaster on the biggest grin he can physically manage. Ned weaves his way through the tables to his reserved spot, drinking half the beer waiting for him in a definitely casual way.

"Hard day?"

"Just a regular one." Ned takes his seat, turning to Bryce with a carefully cool level of camaraderie and raising his bottle. "Water in the desert."

Bryce smiles with a twinge of intrigue and raises his as well. "Port in the storm."

* * *

No matter how long Indrid glares at them, the drawings on the wall don't change. The air in the trailer is uncharacteristically stale, the pinned papers beginning to curl at the edges. Nothing has changed, and he doesn't know why he was expecting anything to, but it's still disheartening.

Absurdly, Indrid wants to call Duck, which is a stupid response to the problem—what could anyone do to fix this for him?—but the one he has nevertheless. It's been (a glance at the microwave clock tells him) barely an hour since he dropped Indrid off, but he wants to.

He wants to talk. He— He has things he wants to talk about, and he keeps putting them off when they're together in person, but that doesn't mean the urge to spill his secrets goes away completely.

Indrid's hand comes up of its own accord to tear down another drawing, but he doesn't know which. He can't decide—which futures are unlikely, whether to call or not—so he goes to bed, leaving the problem to his future self and hoping that the indecision won't plague his dreams as well. (He knows it probably will, but a moth can hope.)

* * *

Never let it be said that Ned doesn't live up to his name—that is, one of his many names, because he is certainly the life of the party tonight.

Or maybe that's Bryce. Ned can't tell at this point. All he knows is the majority of the patrons have congregated around their corner of the bar and his jokes are getting the most uproarious of laughter, so he doesn't particularly care why.

"So this one over here," Bryce continues, pointing a thumb at the person draped over his shoulders, who grins wider in response, "is standing there blinking, asking what the hell just happened, so I say..."

Elliot (a dim part of Ned's mind reminds him) rolls their eyes and finishes, "I thought _I'd_ hit on you, rather than a truck."

This sets off the crowd once more, which is quickly interspersed with doling out comradely pats on the back for Bryce's quip and calling for more drinks. Glasses appear on the bar and are gone as quickly and without notice, back down the end of the counter and out of sight. Ned can feel more than see the people around him, their faces blurring together, but their want for more and more is intoxicatingly omnipresent.

Bryce launches into another story, prompting Ned for the occasional color commentary, and it all feels so _good_ , the attention, the whirlwind tales. Someone pushes another drink into Ned's hand mid-laugh and he feels like his whole face is shining under an unseen spotlight, the noise of the crowd fading into a uniformly exuberant sound that wraps around him like the warm glow of a rotisserie oven. It's like he's being baked by the hot rays of validation, and it's awesome.

In the midst of the laughter, Ned spies Bryce's grin, a spotlight of its own. He takes another drink.

* * *

Aubrey is trying really hard to stay positive. She tries to channel all her energy into the hunt and her training, but in her defense, it's a lot of energy. Some of it is bound to manifest as pacing.

"Yo, Aub— Whoa no!"

Jake opens the door right into Aubrey's path, luckily leaving enough space that she doesn't crash right into it.

"I'm fine," Aubrey says, stumbling to a halt before she walks into Jake too. "It's all— What did you say?"

"Yo?"

"No, after that. Did you say 'whoa no,' like 'oh no' but…?"

"Whoa?" Jake grimaces. "Uh, maybe, sure, anyway: I just came up to ask what's with the pacing? You've been at it for hours, you okay?"

A glance at her alarm clock tells Aubrey it's much later than she thought. She can't see her own face, but based on Jake's commiserating look she can only assume it's bad.

"Sorry," she sighs. "I didn't realize how late it was, I'll stop."

"Nah, it's fine. I was worried."

Jake is incapable of insincerity, which Aubrey generally appreciates, but right now it only sets her on edge.

"Nope! Nothing to worry about here! Everything's totally good over here, Jakesicle, just about to go to bed, hit the hay, the ol' beddy-bye."

Even as she's saying it, Aubrey can hear how crazy she sounds, but she can't stop talking. She goes to fold down the covers on her bed, trying to kick off her boots simultaneously in a weird pantomime of a nighttime routine, but Jake raises his hand (and eyebrows).

"Wow, and I thought Duck was a bad liar."

Aubrey deflates, shoulders sagging as she sinks onto the unruffled corner of her bed with a heavy sigh.

Jake sits next to her and continues, "Are you doing alright? You seem kinda stressed."

"It's the stress," she replies automatically. "No, I mean… It's the hunt. The beginning is always the worst part, not knowing what we're going to fight. I don't know what to practice to I end up trying to prepare for everything, which is usually exhausting on its own, but there's so much waiting."

Jake smiles sympathetically as she finishes, "I'm going stir-crazy."

"I feel that, man. It can get boring, only getting to do your thing every once in a while."

"It's not like waiting for winter so you can skateboard," Aubrey points out, and he shakes his head, still smiling.

"No, but, Sylph, remember?" He turns to face her more fully. "I get the cabin fever feeling. But you're _good_ , Aubrey, and having downtime to practice only makes you better. That's worth a little waiting, right?"

"Tell my attention span that," she quips, but there's no feeling behind it. Jake has a point. As much as she hates waiting and not knowing what's coming, she knows that it's better to practice and plan. "I'm just restless."

"Alright." Jake claps his hands on his knees, jolting Aubrey away from the patch of comforter she'd been inspecting. "Show me what you can do."

"Huh?"

"Show me what you've been practicing." He jumps up and moves to the middle of the room, arms wide open. "Hit me, Lady Flame."

Aubrey can't help but smile as she too stands and points at the ceiling ( _not_ at Jake, she's not an idiot), the room temperature dropping a degree.

"Alright, Coolice," she says, frost gathering on the tip of her finger. "You think you know how to—"

A thick stream of ice erupts from her finger before she can say "chill" and rockets into the ceiling fan. They both freeze with bated breath as the blades wobble, and for a moment it seems that might be it, but then the fan jolts down, and then it falls out of the plaster with a sound that is unmistakably bad.

"You don't think...?" Jake asks, eyes still glued to the dangling fixture and wires.

Before Aubrey can think of an answer, Mama's voice echoes down the hall, "Alright, who broke what?"

The panic in Aubrey's eyes is mirrored perfectly in Jake's.

"Should we—?"

"The second floor's not too high, right?"

By the time Mama gets upstairs, the two of them have climbed out the window and scurried down to the cellar to hopefully wait out the worst of her withering disappointment.

* * *

When Ned wakes up, it's with a familiar feeling he'd naively thought he'd never experience again: that of giant, flattened jackhammers pushing their way out of his skull via his forehead. He's at least in his own bed (it's the little things) and someone who was definitely not him had plugged his phone in for him. There's a strand of messages from Duck and a few from the Pine Guard group chat, mostly indecipherable combinations of emojis from Aubrey, and also the time, which is much earlier than he would like to see on a regular day, let alone through a headache like this.

Duck's messages start with a reminder to keep an eye out for any weird black substances and end with "kirby says you're still unconscious. great detective work, old man." so the day is off to a great start. It takes him ten minutes to find his glasses, there's no spinach for his scrambled eggs, and he slips on the front steps on his way out, but it's fine. The nagging feeling he was supposed to remember something recedes (like his headache) with the help of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's... it's a groupme ok. shut up they could have limited cell service/wifi in the nrq, the part I've driven through has, and it's my rules anyway
> 
> tbh I'm not totally happy with this but these bits were too short to justify their own chapters so: vignette collection it is. the NEXT chapter though, oh man, THAT I'm excited about.


	7. was and is and never will

Even from the doorway of the lodge, Aubrey can tell that Duck is saying something snarky about Ned's admittedly stylish sunglasses that are definitely hiding a red-eyed squint. Bounding down the steps toward the van, she makes out the end of Duck's sentence, which she is quick to step on. As much as Aubrey is always willing to hop aboard the tease train, she's too excited to have good news to engage.

"And I'm sure the sensitivity to light and sound are really gonna help today, great timing—"

"I'll have you know my tolerance—"

"Guys," Aubrey says, skidding to a stop in front of them, "I've gotten _so_ good at this ice magic thing."

Duck frowns and glances around to make sure Agent Stern isn't there as she continues, "I was sitting with Dani and she noticed how all the ice in her lemonade had melted so I took the glass and blew on it and it got all frosty."

She tosses her head, pompadour wiggling, and adds, "It was a pretty smooth move, if I do say so myself. You should've seen it."

Indrid (who is sitting in the backseat still) sticks his head out of the front window. "Like in X-Men?"

"Oh yeah," Duck's face lights up as Aubrey's drops, "Iceman!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Aubrey frantically shakes her head.

"Right," Ned chimes in, "Hugh Jackman and what's his name, the kid from—"

"Animorphs," Duck supplies, just as Ned comes up with, "Smallville."

"Neither of them because it's not from a movie _shut up_ ," Aubrey says with a frantic glance over her shoulder at where Dani is checking up on one of the flowerbeds.

Duck nods, lowering his voice in deference as he says, "Okay, but just to be clear, we all know it's from X-Men?"

"Duh." Aubrey nods with the rest of them. "Okay, so, judging by Ned's hangover, no leads there. Is there anywhere else ?"

"I called the dry cleaners this morning," Duck says, "and the owner said no one was willing or able to fess up to where they got the stain. Some were embarrassed, she said that happens a lot, but most didn't know, said it just showed up one day. Either way, no help there."

"And nothing in my predictions indicates anything further happening at the places we've visited," Indrid adds somewhat dejectedly from the window. He keeps glancing over the shoulders of everyone present, but as no one has entered or left the lodge since Aubrey, he's finally relaxing.

"Which leaves the forest," Aubrey finishes.

Ned carefully removes his sunglasses and folds them, hanging them off the pocket of his vest. "At this point, I see no reason why not."

"Really?" Duck struggles not to look too excited. "You seemed pretty staunchly against it. What changed your mind?"

Ned shrugs. "To be honest, it doesn't look like the abomination is out yet. Worst case scenario we spend a night out in this beautiful weather."

"And you can use the bathroom at the lodge," Aubrey points out.

"That too, absolutely."

Duck heads home to pick up the camping gear he definitely hasn't had waiting in his living room since the hunt began and is back before the others can decide who is going to have to share a tent with Ned (who denies having a snoring problem but can't erase the footage Kirby has shared).

When he returns, it's with a poorly masked grin of delight that spreads through the group, infecting them all with a cautiously excited optimism that only increases as they set out. The sun is not too bright, the trees rustling in the occasional breeze, and the walk is easy and uninterrupted.

In daylight the gate has a different kind of magic to it: equally mysterious, it seems more inviting than ominous, like the difference between the gate to a secret garden and a shifty fairy underworld. The thrumming energy it gives off feels like the haze of a distant patch of sunny meadow, tall grasses full of humming bugs. It lacks the hard edge that sense heightened by the dark gives it and feels more soothing than anything else, even as Indrid keeps occasionally spacing out watching it when he's meant to be helping set up the tents.

They decide to camp in the thicker brush outside the clearing, having come to the conclusion along the way that they would keep watch that night and venture out deeper into the trees the next day. Duck clears a spot for a small fire that Aubrey is forbidden to touch. She is, however, allowed to drag some nearby fallen logs around it, as well as collect tinder.

It takes them a bit longer than it should, given Duck's insistence everything be done just so and Ned's headache handicap, but they settle down to dinner (instant ramen, made slightly exciting by the campfire-ness of it all) as the sun begins to set.

"So," Aubrey pauses to slurp some more, "Indrid, I've been meaning to ask. How was your trip?"

"Oh! Good."

Aubrey blinks. "...Yeah? Care to... elaborate?"

"Not much to elaborate on." He pauses to blow on his hot cocoa, then takes a happy sip. "As soon as I returned to my camper and remade my charm, I drove to Tallahassee, found a secluded spot in the state park west of it, and stayed there until I drove back here. Oh. I suppose I did visit an old friend on the way back up. That was nice."

"Like a human friend or...?"

"A wolfman." Indrid takes another sip. "Not _the_ wolfman, but a wolfman nevertheless."

"...Right." Aubrey glances around to make sure everyone is as casually shocked as she is, which they are.

"He goes by Wolfie," Indrid adds. "Not the most subtle person, but a wonderful conversationalist."

"Where does he live? How does he stay away from the gate?"

"He has an island on the Greenbrier, downstream of here. Enough of the imbued water from Kepler makes its way down to him eventually."

"That..."

"I know. He's quite the character."

Before Aubrey can ask if he's serious, Indrid freezes, pupils narrowing again.

"Aw dang, alright." Duck leans back to grab Indrid's bag and takes out his sketchbook and pencil, putting them in Indrid's lap. "He's been doing this all week, I don't know what's up with it."

"I can't control when the future changes," Indrid says distantly, hand automatically drawing.

"I also keep forgetting he can still hear us."

"My visions have no sound."

Indrid pulls off the sheet and crumples it, already drawing again as he tosses it aside. Thankfully it doesn't fall into the fire, but Duck winces nevertheless, and tucks it in his jacket pocket.

"I'm very good at lip reading," Indrid continues blithely, "that's how I know what you're about to say. Haven't you ever wondered why my inflection is always so off?"

As Aubrey shrugs, Indrid suddenly blinks out of the future, mid-line, to find himself left with another unfinished sketch of an empty place. He doesn't have to flip back to know it's as empty as the rest; this time, a group of rocks in the middle of the river, even more lacking in landmarks than usual.

It's incredibly frustrating, so much so that Indrid would chuck the whole thing in the fire if it weren't for the several pictures saved in the back of moments like the one that had just passed; moments of camaraderie, belonging, and warmth. (Also several drawings of Duck that aren't necessarily _useful_ vision-wise, but that's neither here nor there.)

"Anything important?" Ned asks.

"In a way," Indrid says, flipping the book shut, "isn't everything important, fulfilling a purpose only it can?"

"That's a no, right?"

"Of course it is."

They continue in this vein for a while, occasional chatter amidst long stretches of staring into the silent forest. The light of their small fire (which Duck is tending to watchfully) doesn't reach that far, mostly caught against the faces of the tents, and around them the night is drowsily quiet, unfortunately. There is the sound of pencil on paper scratching out details, leaves rustling with innocuous squirrel sounds, and nothing monstrous to be found.

As the debate regarding patrols versus watch shifts is beginning, though, there comes a new sound. As Aubrey pulls out her map, something wooden snaps, a much louder, lower sound than any twig. Though everyone's first instinct is to look to the woods, it becomes apparent not a moment later that what snapped is Indrird's pencil, and what is hyperventilating is Indrid himself.

"Whoa, you—"

Aubrey tries to reach out but balks when she remembers the fire between them. Luckily Duck is on the right side and is already doing what he can, which seems to mostly be catching his sketchbook before it falls into the dirt and then hovering his hands around Indrid without actually touching.

"Hey Indrid?" Duck says softly, though it's almost lost in the frantic breathing. "Is it alright if I...?"

In lieu of an answer, Indrid stops breathing entirely, lurches back on the fallen log, and then jumps up, muttering, "Fine, I'm fine," as he heads for the nearest tent.

The three of them sit in awkward silence, each with a careful ear out for any further noise from the tent, but the silence they find is equally worrying, to be honest.

After a moment Ned scoots over to take the sketchbook from Duck, who doesn't notice, too busy directing a look of intent worry at the closed tent. The most recent page is mundane. River, rocks, brush. Nothing particularly frightening about it.

When it becomes apparent Indrid isn't coming out (and Duck's worry isn't fading) any time soon, Aubrey gives the latter a verbal nudge.

"You wanna...?"

"Yep."

As Duck's eyes adjust to the muffled light inside the tent, Aubrey and Ned begin to whisper, quickly cut off when he lets the flap fall again. He can make out a shape in the corner (his eyesight not what it used to be) that resolves into the shape of Indrid bundled up in a sleeping bag, only his hair visible.

Before Duck can say anything, Indrid's head appears. "I'm fine, Duck, merely embarrassed. You can go back outside now."

"Uh, you sure?" Duck stumbles, quickly erasing what he'd planned to say. "Seemed a bit more than that."

"No, it's—" Indrid's hand sticks out of the top of the sleeping bag and flaps around uselessly. "I'm tired. I haven't been sleeping well, prophetic nightmares, and... The futures, they became overwhelming."

It's not quite true. Yes it was his clairvoyance that triggered the meltdown, and yes it was overwhelming, but...

The truth is, Indrid hasn't been able to see the future, not really, since he left. Whether it's goat-based head trauma or psychosomatic aversion, Indrid can't tell. For the first, this world doesn't have the right kind of medicine, and for the second, well, it's not like it's nothing he hasn't done before. Hell, it even ended well. If it was trauma like _that_ , it would've come after Silver Bridge, or any of the other, smaller disasters that have come about from his misreadings or misguided attempts to intervene.

Regardless, his sight wasn't working anymore—or working the way it ought to. Indrid hadn't lied when he said he'd had visions of coming back to Kepler to stop the next abomination, but that was the extent of it. The big picture stuff came through, and the occasional small interaction or oddly fixed scene, but that was all. (The nightmares are an even more frustrating story, as he can't tell if they're truly prophetic or his mind catastrophizing worst case scenarios.) Like it isn't enough to lose something he's relied on for decades, the glimpses of how it used to be remain to taunt him.

Since his return he hasn't said much of anything, passing it off as an attempt to not "fiddle on the strings of fate" as he'd told Aubrey when she started catching on. He can still see enough to occasionally call one of them up to recommend that they hold someone back from walking into traffic or tell Barclay the eggs in the back of the fridge have gone off. It feels a little twisted, like he's only saving lives to flex his powers and keep them off his back, but the visions he's been getting of the next abomination are too dire already to risk worsening with unnecessary concern. Add to that the possibility of their faith in him faltering... It's for the greater good, that's all.

Duck goes to pat Indrid on the shoulder but thinks better of it when he reconsiders how he's stayed as far away as possible in the small tent. Instead he says, "Happens to the best of us."

After a second of rewinding to see what he said last, Indrid's face twists into a mockery of a smile. "Does it really?"

"I mean..." Duck shifts, tucking his feet under himself, then crossing his legs. Outside, Aubrey and Ned's whispering has turned back into regular conversation, making it feel, somehow, safer to talk. "It sounds like a self-serving compliment, but me too."

That certainly gets Indrid's attention, although he doesn't say anything.

"That never even almost came up?"

"No, I..." Indrid tries to pull his arms out of the sleeping bag, flails slightly, and finally unzips it down to his waist so he can breathe. He's wearing a long sleeve shirt promoting some long extinct niche soda, covering the sudden goosebumps on his arms, but he needs to gesture. "The short time we knew each other was rather busy, the subject never arose, not with any length or frequency enough to notice. I suppose I assumed your dream was a one-off resulting from your Chosen status."

Duck winces, hidden by the low light. "Nah, it's... It's been happening for a while. Actually the first sign of my being Chosen and all, I guess."

He almost says it. He _wants_ to say it, and maybe if Indrid wasn't currently nursing a clairvoyance-induced migraine it would be as if he already had say it, but the words themselves— _I'm not Chosen anymore, it's all gone except the nightmares for some fucking reason_ —stay stuck in his throat. Indrid just looks so _touched_ , like he'd never considered someone else would ever get what it's like again, outside of Sylvain, and he's calmer now, and it's stupid, Duck knows, but he doesn't want to be the thing that takes that away.

"I know it's not the same, but—"

"No, you—" Indrid's hands grasp the edge of his sleeping bag, flexing nervously. "I do still appreciate it."

Duck's not gonna say it. He can't do that, not now, not when Indrid's looking at him like that with almost instantaneous bedhead and a smile blossoming in one corner of his mouth. As the silence stretches between them, it gets thinner and thinner, to the point where it is barely noticeable. They're sitting there, no need for talk; the lack of words is an aspect of what's happening, not the thing itself.

"You alright?" Duck asks after a minute. "Ned and Aubrey volunteered to take first watch, but the fire's still going if you're too cold."

Indrid sighs and slumps over in his cocoon. "I think I'll... rest," he says, carefully omitting any mention of actual sleep.

"Alright, sure, I'll just—" Pointing a thumb over his shoulder, Duck starts to scoot back to the tent flap, but one of Indrid's hands shoots out of the sleeping bag and stretches in his general direction.

After a small silence, Indrid simply says, "You can stay."

The heat radiating off Duck's face right now is probably as good a source of warmth as the fire outside. He nods, though, and pokes his head out of the tent to tell the other two everything's good and could they pass him his bag and Ned stop making that goddamn face.

There's an awkward moment as Duck changes his shirt and gets in his sleeping bag before wriggling out of his jeans (at least, awkward on Duck's part—Indrid lays down and stares at the wall of the tent with no comment). A train on the opposite side of town rumbles through, the night so quiet otherwise and the act so familiar that if Duck closes his eyes he can imagine he hears the individual clicks of nails on wheels.

He doesn't though, doesn't want to fall asleep if he doesn't have to, tries not fall asleep more than once if he can help it, especially since the visions have somehow gotten worse since losing his powers. There's nothing else but his own thoughts and the silence of the tent. Despite the understanding they just came to, there's a tension in the air, both feeling that the other still has more to say but each unwilling to go first.

Through the thin nylon of the tent Duck can almost feel the warmth of the fire still, the light of it illuminating half his face as he stares up at the top of the tent. Whatever warmth it might give off, Indrid certainly doesn't feel, as the sound of his sleeping bag rustling against the floor of the tent, the skritch of nylon on nylon, fills the tent as he shivers.

"You alright over there?"

"I'm wearing four layers, this is just unfair." His voice comes out muffled, shoulders hunched and head ducked into the sleeping bag.

"Hey, come out for a sec."

"Of the...?"

"No, here, pop your head out."

Indrid does, his hair somehow only slightly staticky. He'd pulled on another sweatshirt and an oversized denim jacket, probably while Duck had stuck his head out again to remind the others how to put out the fire if they needed to, but even that apparently does nothing.

He looks like he's wandered blindly through a thrift shop circa 1989, but it's an endearing disaster, and in a desperate attempt to hang onto his prior train of thought Duck blurts out, before anything else can make it to the forefront of his mind, "You got socks?"

"Wh—? Yes, of course I have socks, what are you talking about?"

Alright, it was a stupid question, but Indrid is smiling even as his eyes say Duck's lost his mind, so it's at least partially a win.

"How many?" Duck asks, sitting up to grab his own bag and rummaging through it even before Indrid answers.

"I have two feet, so... two."

Duck emerges triumphant, a pack of brand new white socks in his hands.

"Don't take a mindreader to know Aubrey wasn't gonna listen when I told her not to wear boots," he says, tearing open the plastic, "so I brought extras for padding. No one wants blisters. Here."

Indrid looks like he's never seen socks before, or maybe like he's seeing them in a new way. They almost glow in the moonlight.

Before he even starts putting them on over his current socks (patterned with starfish, sort of thin), Duck is holding up another pair, saying, "You, uh... you want mittens?"

That startles a laugh out of Indrid and he grins, nodding. "Yes, absolutely, perfect."

Two pairs of socks warmer, Indrid burrows back into his sleeping bag, arms tucked in close and face turned toward Duck instead of the wall this time. The tension has dispersed for the moment as he watches Duck put his things back in their places before lying down too.

"Better?"

"Hm. Better."

The light of the fire still plays across the tent's walls, kindling and illuminating the small space, but all is warmly quiet. The two stare at each other for a moment longer before Duck says, "If you're, uh, still cold, I could..."

There's genuine curiosity in Indrid's voice when he asks, "You could what?"

Instead of the words he knew he would probably only flail around, Duck simply reaches out with one hand and carefully covers the nape of Indrid's neck. Then Indrid blinks, once, twice, all the while looking at Duck somewhat miraculously, and the words come spilling out regardless.

"The thing about most heat escaping through your head is a myth, technically most body parts lose heat the same rate if exposed, but I read somewhere that cooling the back of the neck helps with fevers so I figure—"

"Duck?"

"Yeah?"

"You can stop talking whenever you like."

Indrid slides his sleeping bag closer so Duck's arm doesn't have as far to reach.

"Yeah, alright."

Even in the relative dark, his hair is luminescent. Duck can feel the edges of it against the side of his hand, oddly silky despite its newly fluffy appearance.

Just as the thought enters Duck's mind to wonder if the rest of it feels the same, Indrid's head tips forward a little, which he takes as a sign.

"Goodnight Indrid."

"Mhm."

Duck is mostly asleep when he hears a quiet, "thank you," and the whisper of nylon being moved out of the way. He's fully asleep when a single bare hand lays gratefully on his shoulder. When the alarm goes off for their shift in a few hours, that's how Duck wakes up.

(He was right, by the way; his hair is soft, and all clean like this it's just the right thickness for carding fingers through too.)

(And if their sleep is too short to allow for nightmares, no one is the wiser.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. I was going to post this yesterday, and decided to get caught up just to get in the spirit of things, and then I felt... weird about posting. but this is a gentle chapter, and I know I could really use it, so here it is


	8. jill of all trades

The idyllic chirps and buzzes of West Virginian morning wildlife are nothing against the somber disappointment of the avenging campers gathered there.

"If it were in town, we'd've heard something by now," Ned tries to start over.

Everyone nods, mouths full of makeshift breakfast. It is morning now, and they could head in to the lodge, but after Indrid's minor freak out they'd come to a silent consensus to not press the issue.

"I still think the new guy's suspicious," Aubrey chimes in. "I mean, I used to see him around all the time, but the second we go looking for him, he's nowhere to be found? Suspicious."

She draws out the last word sing-songily and wiggles her fingers, a few snowflakes accidentally falling from them.

"Oho!" Ned grins.

"I didn't even do it on purpose!"

Trying to steer the conversation back to where he'd been headed, Duck says, "I really think we should be looking more out here."

"Where would you— Oh dammit, hang on." A breeze is going through the clearing and Indrid's hair is flying all in his face, along with a few leaves and bits of grass (which Ned protects the coffee pot from with one hand).

"You want some help with that?" Aubrey gestures at his whole wind situation. "I do a pretty mean double dutch braid."

Even as she's saying it, Indrid is moving to sit on the ground in front of her. From the other side of the circle Duck can see their matching, tiny smiles, and feels his own face echo that even as Aubrey starts to poke fun.

"You just wanna hang out in the woods all day," she says, mindlessly parting Indrid's hair and setting to work. Indrid nods in agreement very slightly so as not to disturb her.

"Maybe," Duck says in a childishly defensive tone, "but... I dunno, when has it ever turned out to be something that deep in town? It always starts out here and moves _in_. What if this dude's just a normal dude? Hell, we thought Stern was going to be a problem but all he does is read Kirby's zine and compliment the cooking. What're the odds some VC kid ends up more dangerous than a fed?"

She raises a hand a second. "Counterpoint? We haven't seen him, like, at _all_. Kepler's not a big town and we've been actively searching for this guy, but all of a sudden he's nowhere to be found."

"I've spoken to him several times and there's nothing supernaturally off about him," Ned argues. "He's nothing more than your average shady businessman."

"Explains why you like him so much," Duck mutters.

"Yes," Ned grins, "yes it does. Just like your affinity for arboreal folk explains why you're so desperate to head into the woods."

"That and spring fever," Indrid says from the ground. "But it's still the best course of action."

Duck gives him a look of appreciation, one that softens even more when he sees the way Indrid is fiddling with the end of his one finished braid with an unconscious, pleased little smile.

"So we'll split up," Aubrey says, tying off Indrid's second braid before heading for her stuff. "Refill our water bottles, feed our cats, put on our deodorant."

"Rude," Ned says.

"Oh I was talking about me." She shrugs. "I remembered toothpaste and soap for my face but no deodorant."

Nodding, Ned is about to take a sip from his water bottle when Indrid chimes in, "The toothpaste you spit out into Ned's water?"

"Shit!" Aubrey grimaces and dodges Ned's answering spit take spray. (Beside her Duck is not so lucky, and his half-amused look turns back to disgust.) "I'm sorry! I thought it was empty!"

Ned pauses in his attempts to claw off his taste buds to glare at Indrid. "You couldn't have said something before I tried to drink it?"

"Where would be the fun in that," Indrid grins. If anyone were to look closer, they'd see the brittle edge of it, the lack of sleep in his eyes, but Ned is still spluttering comically and so no one does.

As they start to head back to the lodge, Ned steps away to where the undergrowth is a little thicker and pours out the rest of his water, shaking his head. He turns to rejoin the group but something catches his eye—something dark and out of place.

There's something on one of the trees just past the edge of the clearing. It glimmers as Ned approaches (more curious than anything) but stays stuck to the bark. There's some kind of dark slime, black and purplish where it reflects the morning sunlight, and it's discordant, like in old animated movies where things about to be interacted with by the characters would have a different style to them, more detailed and in a slightly different light.

"Ned?" Aubrey's voice calls out. "You good?"

Not looking away from the tree, Ned pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and picks up a glob with it. It stains the fabric immediately, a faint dark blue splotch with a thin outline like an oil stain, but doesn't spread or do anything immediately weird. It almost smells like... crayons?

He looks back at the tree, where the rest of the slime still clings.

"Come on, Ned," Duck's voice now says.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

Ned folds up the handkerchief and sticks it in his pocket.

* * *

They elect Aubrey to go into the lodge for supplies. Standing at the sink refilling a seemingly endless series of water bottles, she shifts from foot to foot, glancing at the entrance to the dining room every few seconds. She's so busy checking _that_ door, however, that she misses the one at the back swinging open.

"Aubrey."

"Mama!" Aubrey knocks into the spout, sending water all over the counter. "Oh shit, hang on, sorry."

"You thirsty?" Mama raises an eyebrow at the four already filled bottles and the other empty one in the sink. "Or you just trying to drown someone real slow?"

"It's summer, y'know, gotta stay hydrated, out in the woods and all."

Mama nods slowly in a way that says there's no hope in Aubrey trying to keep pretending she's just hoarding water bottles for a totally innocuous reason.

"We didn't see anything last night," she continues, "but we're gonna head back out, really comb the area, make sure there aren't any... I don't know, footprints? Broken branches? Kinda assuming Duck has that covered."

With a sigh, Mama tosses her hat on the counter and leans back against the wall. "Still no sign of it, huh?"

"The full moon isn't til tomorrow," Aubrey offers with a hopefulness she knows will sound forced before she even opens her mouth.

"Y'know I appreciate that, Aubrey, I really do," Mama says. "Kinda cold comfort though."

"Yeah..." Aubrey fiddles with the clip on the nearest water bottle. She doesn't want to look up because she knows if she sees Mama's face it'll do something weird to her (which she won't define further lest her imagination run away with it).

"It was sort of the one thing we could count on with these things," Mama says, her frustration growing but with a dampened weariness to it. "Maybe we couldn't know what the fuck was coming or how to fight it, but at least we knew when they'd be comin'."

She rubs her thigh with a slight grimace, the one on the ankle she broke not that long ago. Aubrey remembers that night, that first feeling of suddenly standing in front of visible, lasting consequence of this job she'd taken on without thinking too hard about it.

"I'm worried about it," Mama finishes, "that's all."

Aubrey's hands fidgets, hidden behind her on the counter. She feels that certain kind of uncomfortable like when your parents or someone adult you look up to starts having an emotion, where your first instinct, no matter how bad it sounds, is to think, _No, that's not right, you don't do that, you don't have doubts or sadness. I look up to you and if you don't have it all together then what the fuck am I supposed to do?_

She swallows and says, "I'm sure it'll be fine, Mama."

Mama seems to come back to herself when Aubrey speaks, and she gives her an uncomfortable smile in apology. "Sorry 'bout that, Aubrey. Leg's been actin' up and I didn't get… the best sleep last night. I'm sure y'all are fine. Don't know how, but the three of you always land on your feet. I just mean to say not to take it for granted."

Aubrey nods. "Yeah, I get it."

When Mama is about to reach the door, Aubrey jerks forward half a step and says, "Hey Mama?"

"Hm?" She looks back at Aubrey, who tries to give her her most sincere look despite the unsettled feeling in her stomach.

"We've got it handled."

Mama's emotions usually don't show themselves on her face, but Aubrey can see the hint of gratefulness in the corner of her eye.

"I'm sure you do," she says as she leaves.

Now all Aubrey has to do is make sure that wasn't a lie.

* * *

In the truck, Duck hums a high tune under his breath, only keeping half an eye out for anything suspicious as they drive into the forest.

"Is that...?" Indrid tilts his head. "Is that Sheryl Crow?"

"Oh, you know the Crow?"

"I live in a secluded trailer park, Duck, not under a rock."

"No I just—"

"—know I have other things on my plate, no, I know." Indrid smiles, and it's familiar enough now to be not so much unsettling as it is kind of comforting. "You'd be surprised how often the phrase 'the first cut is the deepest' shocks people into life altering events."

Duck shakes his head, suddenly over-serious, and Indrid can't help glancing ahead at the punchline. He's already grinning when Duck starts to speak.

"Nah, that tracks," he says sagely. "That's the power of the Crow, man."

Indrid just smiles again, softer. Even though he sees it coming, it's just as charming. "The power of the Crow indeed."

They're both still smiling when they arrive at the trailer, Indrid shutting his door with a little wave. The unnerved worry that had settled on Duck's shoulders over the course of the uneventful night has lifted slightly, replaced by a casual optimism. Duck plugs in his iPod to properly play something more in line with his mood, and sings along as he wonders if Indrid would laugh if Duck were to slip "everyday is a winding road" in some conversation as sage advice later.

He gets to his apartment just as Leo is about to leave. "Leo, hey."

"Aw hey, Duck!" Leo turns off his engine as Duck pulls in. "Just the man I was looking for."

"Yeah?"

Duck hops out to stand by Leo's open window as the man in question rummages around in the stuff on his passenger seat.

"I left a message at the lodge," Leo says as he moves a stack of newspaper, "thought I might catch you there, anyway—"

His hand emerges triumphantly with a flimsy CD case, the previous day's date scribbled on the front.

"Set up a camera the other night and caught the trash thief in the act. You can't see their face or anything, just the most nondescript hoodie imaginable, but I figure it's worth a shot, see if Ned's guy might be able to get something useful out of it."

Duck took the case, internally skeptical at how much of a tech wizard Kirby really was, or if it was just that he seemed genius in comparison to the rest of them, but happy for any leads.

"I'll keep keeping an eye out," Leo continues, "but no dice so far."

"No, I appreciate it. Alright." Duck pats a hand on the hood of Leo's truck as he passes. "Lemme know if you find anything else."

* * *

"I guess I'll just keep holding down the fort, then," Kirby shrugs, leaning against the doorway. Something over Ned's shoulder catches his eye, though, and he straightens and says, "Oh, hi there. Need any help?"

Following Kirby's look, Ned sees first the quickly-becoming-familiar car, and then body, of Bryce. A distant corner of his mind starts to point out that it's a bit weird how— but is quickly fogged over.

"Hi Ned," Bryce says, taking the steps a leisurely two at a time and ignoring Kirby's confusion. "I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by."

"As you should," Ned says over Kirby's mumbled, "There's really only one neighborhood."

Bryce takes this in stride, glancing at the trees wet with the morning's quick rain and devoid of human life. "The less populated half at least, so that's gotta count for something."

"Less populated but no less worth visiting," Ned says smoothly. "You haven't been inside the Cryptonomica yet, have you? Wonders and mysteries await you there."

Feeling like a kid being courted by their possible new stepfather, Kirby says skeptically, "Uh, well, Ned, you were just on your way out, right? And I have the next issue of the Lamplighter to work on so I'm pretty busy today."

The distraction half works: though Kirby gets off scot-free, he can almost physically feel the way Bryce's intent gaze slides off him and back onto Ned.

"Oh? Let me guess: bigfoot hunt." Bryce grins. "Or maybe you're on the search for the mothman? I hear he's big around these parts."

"No, ah, some colleagues of mine and I are going on an expedition, if you will, through our little corner of the ol' Monongahela this afternoon."

Kirby's head turns too quickly to see.

"Right," he jumps back in jerkily, "cuz Duck works for the Park Service and he's working on a new guided tour for forestry illiterates so he needs test monkeys, right Ned?"

A distant part of Ned is grateful for the out, but a larger part is offended by the slight. Regardless, he shrugs graciously and says, "It's true, I like to donate my time to those less fortunate among us, like my dear friend Duck, who (despite his charm and loyalty) is helplessly nerdy about trees. He needs the occasional guiding hand to help him with understanding the layperson's view, which I can helpfully emulate in times of need."

As far as Ned monologues go, it's fairly weak. In his defense, though, he's distracted, hungry, further distracted by the hunger, and overall not quite there. Mentally he's eating a bagel in his kitchen, having just helped defeat the abomination, but the effort it takes to get him to that parallel universe depletes his bullshit speech skill.

God, he wishes he had a bagel right now.

Kirby is staring at him like he's lost his mind and Kirby pities him for it, while Bryce just takes it in his stride.

"Well as someone who's been on the receiving end of such help, I'm sure your friend Duck will appreciate it," he says with a grin that's almost winning, aside from the poppy seed stuck in his teeth. Now Ned is thinking about everything bagels and ooh, that sounds good.

"Totally..." Kirby looks skeptical, but quickly recovers. "Well, I've go work on that thing, and I'm sure you've gotta get going, right Ned?"

"I understand," Bryce nods graciously, "business business business. Good luck with your sylvan adventures."

"Hm?" Ned hums tightly.

"You know, sylvan. Wooded." He chuckles. "I know, old fashioned, but sometimes that's just how I am. Old soul and all that. Anyway, I'll see you later."

Ned, laughing a laugh which only the most discerning of connoisseurs could tell is fake, gives a jovial wave as Bryce leaves for his car. When the clatter of gravel quiets, leaving only the river and the occasional car zipping past on the highway, Kirby laughs with genuine amusement now.

"Seriously?" He asks.

"Huh?"

Kirby shakes his head and leans back into the doorway again. "I mean, I get that there's pretty slim pickings in this town, but seriously, that dude's sketchy as hell."

Standing taller, Ned straightens his (super cool) khaki vest and begins, "First, I'd like to reiterate that I am, as the kids say, a total fucking catch, and if I wanted to... _seduce_ someone—"

" _Really_ hate the way you said that," Kirby adds.

"—it would be a short process."

"...So many things I could say."

"Meaning that I would romance them quickly," Ned amends.

Kirby nods with a truly admirable amount of kindness. "Sure."

"And anyway, I'm simply making sure he doesn't swindle the people of this town out of their hard earned cash," Ned concludes diplomatically.

Kirby doesn't buy it for a second, give him a sideways look. "That's your job?"

"That's my job."

"Okay." Kirby shakes his head. "Well just—Ned? Are you doing okay?"

Ned looks back again from the empty drive. He hadn't noticed turning, but apparently he has. "Hm? Oh yes, fine, fine. Just a long night."

"Alright… Well, stay safe out there, okay Ned? Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Kirby, you don't do anything." It comes out harsher than he intends, but Kirby has already stepped inside with a mildly hurt nod by the time Ned realizes it was him talking at all.

Standing on the porch of the Cryptonomica, Ned feels suddenly very alone. Even the current and cicadas have left him in a bubble of stifled silence, though what exactly is so stifling, he has no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ended way darker than I intended! I guess I'm still processing... _that_ lol—and speaking of, I'm still a couple episodes behind, so no spoilers after episode 28 please! anyway, whats everybodys favorite sheryl crow, song mine's "the book", that song kicks ass
> 
> oh also sorry this chapter took so long! mama's voice was giving me a ton of trouble and then ep 28 really did me in lol, so I'm not quite in the taz mode, but still, I never meant to leave you all so long! and I'm working on the next chapter still, even as I go back to all my good omens wips lol


	9. chances on the edge of town

At yet another entrance to the forest, in yet another team huddle, the gang awaits Ned's last grand reveal.

"You do understand time is of the essence here, right?" Indrid asks, only to be kindly shushed by the other three.

Ned stands ceremonially in front of the van's back doors as Duck and Aubrey drum stoically in anticipation, Duck on the hood of his truck and Aubrey on Duck's arm.

"Okay, sure," Indrid says mostly to himself.

With a triumphant sound effect, Ned throws open the doors to reveal his surprise. In the center of the floor, askew from the movement of the truck, is a sturdy black case with the lid popped open and in that case, nestled, gleaming, are a trio of lightly battered walkie talkies.

Aubrey and Indrid both echo his cheer (albeit with some confusion as Ned continues to grin at them like a loon) but Duck just sighs heavily, two steps ahead.

"You got a license for those, Ned?"

"Yes I have a license," Ned says easily.

"A license for the walkies?"

Ned laughs like a jovial gameshow host. "Duck..."

"Ned Chicane," Duck says, still staring into the distance beyond Ned's head with a totally resigned look, "say the phrase 'I have a license specifically for the walkie talkies,' just like that."

"I have a license specifically for the walkie talkies," he lies through his smiling teeth.

There's no way Duck doesn't see he's lying, but apparently hearing the words is enough for him rationalize the decision not to press further, and he nods. Plausible deniability, that's all he needed.

"We're good to go then?" Indrid asks, his wrist occupied by Aubrey measuring him for a friendship bracelet she's insisting on making him—mostly likely because she needs something to do with her anxious energy, but the gesture still warms something in him.

Duck shrugs his pack higher on his shoulders. "Yeah, let's do this."

They've gone over the plan twice already, despite it being fairly straightforward: the two pairs will head in opposite directions and comb down to the river, keeping an eye out for anything spooky, then (hopefully) now radio the other two when they found something. It was one of those plans that sounded stupid so simplified, but the worst part of it was there was nothing _to_ simplify; that was the plan in its entirety, the plan equivalent of bringing a wiffle bat to a gunfight, and although Aubrey makes them all put their hands in a pile before shouting "break!" like she's trying to defibrillate their dying hope, it does little to alleviate their overcast mood.

The sun continues its slow but steady ascent, illuminating miles of empty forest. Duck and Indrid have been steadily making their way through it, walking back and forth to cover every inch of the upper part of the woods before tackling the riverbank. The lack of anything is taking a greater toll than their thorough pacing, though, which no amount of pleasant conversation on either of their parts is enough to completely forget.

"And that's why Nutter Butters are secretly the greatest cookie ever made," Duck finishes.

"Mhm, sure." Indrid steps over yet another log. "I mean, you're wrong, but sure."

They pause for a moment to check around a small outcrop.

"Bet you like those disgusting cake cookies from grocery stores," Duck mumbles.

Indrid's mouth quirks. "Guilty."

There's nothing there, again, still, and Duck sighs.

"Hold on," Indrid says, turning in place. "Ah, there. This way."

He makes a beeline for the nearly imperceptible spot of clearer brush ten feet to the right. Duck can only see it because it's literally his job to, but from this angle and distance, the makeshift trail is almost invisible, and Indrid trips more than a few times on his way to it.

"Alright, well," Duck says as he catches Indrid from wiping out on yet another root, "it can't be that urgent, maybe slow it down a tick."

Indrid grins back at him, speed unchanged, crystal swinging around his neck. "Not urgent, just exciting."

It's a steep incline, winding back and forth down to the shore. They come to a section of the river where the bank is wider, the same sand and grass running along the water for miles here stretching into a long band of flat rock. Aside from a number of crushed cans and a lone flip flop, there's no one there—and yet Duck feels eyes on the back of his neck as he steps toward the water, a feeling cold and ominous despite the sun rising in the sky.

"I feel it too," Indrid says over Duck's shoulder as he moves past to nudge a large piece of driftwood (or whatever the river equivalent is called) with his foot. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something very powerful nearby."

"Like a person?"

"No..." Indrid stares into space for a moment again. "No, not right now. It's something... heavy. It's sunken."

"Like in the river?"

"Possibly."

"I mean, it's kinda chilly for a swim but..."

"No, don't—" Indrid laughs lightly. "It's only a possibility, you don't have to go jumping in the river. I'm just saying whatever it is, it's not likely to go anywhere. It hasn't been moved in quite some time. I don't think it has anything to do with our abomination."

Duck glances up again at the boulders in the river. There's a long metal ladder leaning against it, a faded beach towel dangling from the top. The breeze coming off the water has Duck shifting in his jacket, and he looks over reflexively to check on Indrid (not that he's an invalid or anything, Duck knows that, he's older than the rest of them combined probably, but Duck's kind of a mother hen, he can't help it).

Indrid, of course, is wearing more layers than the weather generally warrants, and, also of course, fidgets at the wind. He looks up before Duck opens his mouth to offer his jacket and stares blankly at Duck for a moment before nodding sheepishly.

Setting his backpack on the ground, Duck shrugs out of his jacket and starts, "So, the future thing I get..."

"Oh you _do_." Indrid's teasing grin is reflexive as he pulls it on.

"I mean, relatively," Duck qualifies.

"No, I get it."

"But how do you... I dunno, 'sense' all this magic stuff?"

Duck is pretty sure his accompanying hand gesture (sort of like spirit fingers meets mime-trapped-in-a-box) means absolutely nothing, based on how obviously Indrid is holding in a laugh, and shrugs helplessly.

"Enchanting," Indrid says.

"...Thanks?"

He laughs for real this time. "No, I can sense magical items and, to a lesser extent, magic users because I know enchanting. Artificing."

"Oh." Duck blushes severely. "Right, yeah."

"I'll admit, it was always more of a hobby back in Sylvain, but— Sorry, one moment."

He sets his bag on a nearby rock and pulls out his drawing things before sitting down as well. As he starts drawing, he continues, "It was a hobby to start, but after coming to Earth it's become... more of a necessity. Unlike folk at the lodge, I travel, and more than a few times I've needed to repair or replace my disguise on the go."

"And that gives you magic heat-seeking vision?"

"Not really. It's more that I'm attuned to the energy of such items. What do you make of this?"

Indrid finishes his drawing and holds it up to Duck. A mess of slightly squiggly but deliberately drawn graphite outlines in Indrid's usual exacting quality what is unmistakably Mama with a stern look on her face and a set of knives on the table in front of her.

Duck sighs. "Well that can't be good."

"Hm." Indrid turns the page around to consider it again. "You know, I can't say I've missed having _that_ particular look levelled at me."

Duck huffs a laugh and they both go back to poking around the place, but there's Duck is nudging a rock over with his shoe when Indrid turns to stare at him and ask, "You've been wanting to ask me something for days now. What is it, Duck?"

The rock almost falls back on his foot. Oops.

"I don't, uh..." Duck rubs his forehead. "Hell, Indrid, you're too hard to lie to."

"To be fair, you find it hard to lie to everyone."

"Alright, maybe not lie, just..."

"Evade?"

"Yeah." He sighs, but doesn't continue.

As much as it may seem so, Indrid isn't great at reading people—he's never had to, has always skipped ahead two minutes to see what they're likely to say—but even he can tell whatever it is is more serious than simply embarrassing.

"Are you alright, Duck?"

"You don't know already?"

Duck tries to laugh, but he doesn't get far. It doesn't take a soothsayer to see what has to happen next.

"Well," Indrid says, "no."

When Duck simply looks confused, he continues, "My... sight hasn't been working so well lately. It started a little while before I left Kepler. My short term, small scale clairvoyance is always fuzzier the further I am from the gate, and getting hit over the head with a shovel didn't help any. I've only really been able to see the big things—the abomination, life or death situations. Critical moments. That sort of stuff." He laughs sharply. "And even that hasn't been so keen."

"Well... I mean damn, Indrid."

"I know, it's pretty inconvenient."

"No, I mean—" Duck laughs. "I feel like my thing's not as big a deal anymore."

"It wasn't my intention—"

"No, I know."

"I was just trying to open up," Indrid says lamely.

Duck smiles in complete sincerity. "I appreciate it."

In another future, Duck interprets the quiet as shy rather than awkward, and so the following conversation happens with Indrid in his arms in a careful hug. It's nice over there in that future, and warm, but Indrid can only visit a moment before it starts fading into white fuzz. His own is nice enough.

His moment, though, is broken when the walkie buzzes from the side of Duck's pack.

"Team two, come in team two?"

Aubrey's crackling voice is interrupted by Ned's equally distorted one before Duck can manage to grab it.

"Team Duckdrid, come in."

"Indrick? Indruck?"

"Oh that's good, I like that."

Duck finally unclips the radio and answers. "What, what is it?"

"Team two," Aubrey says, "we have a problem."

Ned immediately tramples all over her burgeoning dramatic tension. "Well, maybe not a problem. Probably a problem, but not just yet. We found some goo."

"Goo..." Indrid whispers, then says louder. "Goo!"

"Goo!" Aubrey parrots back.

Duck doesn't need the insistent look Indrid is shooting his way to remember something that happened literally yesterday, but he nods at him anyway. "Alright, we'll head your way."

The moment is gone, and they turn in the direction Ned and Aubrey went in silence.

As they clamber up the bank, Duck tries to find a way to return to the topic formerly soon to be at hand, but the moment has passed. He thinks about the crumpled up drawings in his (currently Indrid's) pockets, though, and the one folded carefully in the pocket currently by Indrid's heart.

"So Mama lookin' all mad at us is a 'critical moment' then?"

"I suppose so."

"Huh... Well that can't be a good sign."

Indrid pauses with one hand on the nearest tree and turns to look back at Duck, suddenly solemn. "My thoughts exactly."

Somewhere deeper in the forest, something rustles.

They find Ned and Aubrey fairly easily, a few yards off the path they had taken, but the smell reaches them first.

Something like frying oil wafts off the brackish pond in front of them, explaining Ned and Aubrey's grimaces. The water is iridescent black, but other than that and the smell, nothing seems to be wrong at first. There are plants and animals, a branch sunken into the surface on one side, a small fleet of dragonflies perched on it, and the sky overhead is the same light blue.

Upon closer inspection, though, it's just... wrong. The colors of the plants are slightly off, and the bugs— It's not _that_ rare to see one with two heads or an odd looking set of wings or something, but every one in sight has something significantly off about it. Their wings are curled around the edges, bodies a lurid shade of green or blue instead of an iridescent combination. One of them is absurdly large, its wingspan the size of a fresh pencil and disproportionately wide compared to its regular sized body. Their wings flutter out of sync, a jagged ripple running across the branch.

"Ugh, no, I can't look at it anymore." Aubrey goes to stand behind Ned and faces the opposite direction so they're back to back.

Ned says, gesturing vaguely with the Nerfblaster, "So we found this. Pretty sure it's not normal."

"Pretty sure, yeah," Aubrey adds with her eyes squeezed shut. "Also I hate bugs now. No offense, Indrid."

"Wasn't offended until you said that," Indrid quips, already crouching down by the edge of the pool opposite the mutant dragonflies. He's already comparing it to the stains they'd found at the dry cleaners, but more than that it seems... familiar, the scene as a whole. The distance between tree trunks behind the pool, the shape of those rocks in the distance, the bunch of lavender growing to his right. Indrid would think this were déjà vu if he wasn't aware that for him there's no such thing—or at least, there didn't used to be.

"Is it bad that I maybe also want to touch it?" Aubrey asks in the background. "Like I hate it, I hate looking at it, it feels _wrong_ , but I alsooo wanna touch it."

"I suggest not doing that," Indrid says absently, too busy mentally flipping through his recent sketches. None of them seem pertinent, though that worry is less pressing than Ned's face peering closer and closer at the surface of the pond. "I wouldn't do that either."

Ned straightens up with almost comical suddenness. "Right."

"This has gotta be what's causing the stains then, right?" Aubrey continues. "It's almost the same color, and definitely something... alien."

The goo gurgles in response, sending up a bubble of rancid air.

"...Is it trying to communicate?" Aubrey asks under her breath. "Please tell me it's not trying to communicate."

Before they can get caught up and wait for some kind of answer, Indrid says, "So all those people with stains have had contact with this pool in some way."

"Not directly, at least," Duck replies, still looking like he's considering poking the surface with his stick just to see. "We're not near any major trails, and there definitely hasn't been the amount of foot traffic to explain the amount of complaints. No matter how much you try and teach people how to respect the forest, they still leave a mark, and no person's been out here in a while."

"Maybe there's another one somewhere more popular," Aubrey offers, looking even more like she's about to do the same. "Another trail or by a road."

"Maybe it's drawing in people," Indrid says. "Or maybe something's bringing _it_ to _them_."

The four of them stumble into silence, at first as they worry about the damage the abomination could have been wreaking under their noses and then as that worry strengthens when it dawns on each of them how silent this silence is.

It isn't quiet but true silence; there is no sound at all. The dragonflies in front of them, the animals and insects that must be around them, the wind that has occasionally woven through the trees, the river that is just out of sight: all silent. They trade glances with growing concern, all holding their breath with the unconscious fear that they'll exhale and no sound will come out—that they won't be able to take another breath after—until Indrid throws a rock into the pond.

The surface shudders rather than ripples; not quite wholly solid, the rock plops into the top layer of the sludge before slowly sinking. It makes a sound, though, a wet thud quickly followed by Aubrey's sigh of relief and the sounds of the forest returned.

"Okay," Aubrey says, still tense, "so that almost got very dark."

Suddenly glad he didn't touch it, Duck agrees under his breath. "Yeah, pretty freaky."

Ned seems to be in a state of mild shock, unresponsive to even Duck's reassuring shoulder pats. He looks out of it, not even in disgust or anything but more like his eyes won't even process what's in front of them.

Indrid can't blame him; even having seen things that are quite literally otherworldly, he's having a hard time understanding what's going on. (Part of it is certainly the frustrating inability to reach out to the future context clues he's so used to relying on, but it's particularly bad here.) Whatever is in that pond is something that doesn't work in this world. It doesn't fit, it doesn't follow any laws of nature, not like gravity defying water elementals or beings that rip through time and space, but only just enough that the difference is hard to pinpoint: a nagging uncanniness.

The rest of the conversation flows around him. Aubrey raises the question of whether anyone has seen something like this before, Duck starts talking about oil spills, Ned throws out a half-funny quip, and Indrid stares at the pond. He's seen it somewhere, he thinks, or maybe he's smelled it before, or maybe it's something else familiar, but the longer he thinks about it the more he loses his grip on whatever it is that's so bothersome.

In the distance, Aubrey asks Duck, "Could you talk to whoever, your contact at the dry cleaners? Maybe find out some of the people who have been afflicted and see if they noticed anything?"

"'Contact' makes it sound so official," Duck says. "It's just the kid of someone I went to high school with. I can go talk to Elliot, though, sure."

He breaks off, and they all stare at the pond a moment longer, entranced by the way the air seems to hum above it, the slick shine of its surface.

"...I don't want to just leave it out here," he finishes. Still none of them have looked away.

After another moment (or maybe more, time feels so vague right now, though no one seems capable of worrying about that yet) Indrid replies, "I don't think there's anything we can do about it."

With that they shove off, turning toward the van with their backpacks jingling and their conversation muted. If their footsteps through the leaves are louder than they should be, no one notices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "keaton what's taking them so long" IT'S NOT MY FAULT THEY KEEP FAILING THEIR ROLLS
> 
> the unofficial theme song of this chapter is "[conversation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCD_Q2624d0)" by joni mitchell, which I apparently left myself a note about at 1:07am weeks ago with just the above link, no explanation


	10. all the gates are open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some minor body horror. major body horror? it's pretty contained, a few paragraphs describing the abomination's shapeshifting

"Indrid."

"Yes?"

Ned says it again slower, pulling the vowels like taffy. "Indrid."

"Oh, you're doing a bit, okay."

"A funny name, that," Ned says contemplatively. He stumbles slightly on a tree root, too busy look faux nonchalantly into the distance.

Ahead of them Duck is mumbling something to himself, consulting the map, and Aubrey has fallen behind after retying her boots for the third time that since they left the pond. They are ostensibly scouring the woods again now that they sort of know what to look for, although they're mostly just following Duck's lead to wherever and hoping that if they stumble upon something it's at least before the sun starts to set.

"Right." Indrid sighs. "It's Sylvan, yes, and although there was an Earthen equivalent, it hasn't been in fashion for over a century, and never really on _this_ continent."

Ned nods and lapses into silence, but Indrid knows the conversation isn't over, and sure enough a few minutes later he says, "Certainly sounds old-fashioned—"

"No, you may not call me Indy," Indrid interrupts—sedate, but only for now. Why is this a moment where his vision works? He has no idea, but he there are just as many futures where Ned goes ahead anyway as those where he concedes, so it's probably worth a shot.

"What?" Aubrey calls from a few feet back. "Why not? That's so badass."

The odds of him escaping from this un-nicknamed are thus vaporized, but damn if he isn't going down swinging. Without turning around, Indrid says a little louder, "I am not an adventuring professor."

"No, think about it!" No one needs to look to know Aubrey's got her hands in the air, an incredulous/delighted expression on her face. "Super smart, wears glasses as part of a relatively mild-mannered alter-ego, daring deeds of heroism..."

"I don't—"

"Sex appeal," Ned adds.

"Totally! Uh, tank tops...? Oh, do you have a good relationship with your father?"

Aubrey's agreement falls on deaf ears, however, as Indrid continues to stare silently at Ned, who shrugs.

"I'm just saying," Ned offers. Then, before Indrid can ask what that even means, he tilts his head up toward Duck (who hears none of this) and raises his eyebrows obnoxiously.

There is a long moment of a silent staring contest in which Ned's expression slowly slides from smug to serious with an undertone of frightened.

"You know how easy it would be for me to kill you, Edmund," Indrid says. It's not a question.

"I... am aware, yes."

Indrid nods as he takes longer steps, sailing past Ned. "As long as we're clear."

"All good back there?" Duck says when he approaches. Ned and Aubrey are quietly talking behind them, something about a bird Ned had seen earlier. Other than that there's nothing out there: no sign of anything strange in the forest, no mysterious scratches on the trees or more ponds of acidic ooze. Only afternoon Appalachian bliss.

Indrid shakes his head noncommittally. "Ned thinks he's funny. No, nothing concerning, just..." He smiles wryly. "Not that funny."

"Alright." Duck smiles back (though slightly unsure) and folds up his map. "Well, there's a clearing up a ways. A family was up there the other day and called in about some weird noises they heard, figured it might be worth checking out."

"What exactly does 'weird noises' entail?"

"No clue." He swings his bag off one shoulder to tuck the map back in a pocket and spots something. "Oh hey, is anyone hungry?"

They head over to a cluster of few large rocks and logs, where Aubrey immediately pulls off her boots and socks with a sigh of relief.

"I told you we were gonna be doing a lot of walking," Duck says as he starts pulling out baggies of trail mix.

"I'm committed to the aesthetic, Duck." She reaches for one of the bags but Duck pulls it back. "Come on, really? I'll buy running shoes, alright?"

"No, it— That one's not yours."

Aubrey blinks and behind her Indrid tilts his head in the international sign for fascination. "Does it matter?"

"They're, uh..." Duck flushes, avoiding eye contact as he hands her a different one. "They're all, uh... specific."

He starts passing out the rest of the bags quickly, like maybe if everyone's mouths are full he won't have to explain. It obviously won't happen, but he still tries.

"Did you make us each custom trail mixes?" Ned's eyebrow raises slowly as he catches on.

"...Maybe."

Awwing, Aubrey steamrolls over Duck's protests. "Duck, that's so sweet, thank you!"

"Don't make it a whole thing—"

"I _love_ peanut butter chips." She tips half the bag into her mouth.

Duck grimaces and reaches over to grab it, though she evades him. "Well don't choke, alright?"

Thankfully everyone's mouths are soon too full to continue, though Ned does occasionally hum appreciatively as he picks through his own bag. When it becomes apparent there will be no more teasing, Duck allows himself to close his eyes, the familiarly variable sounds of the forest around him white noise as he spaces out. It's been an awkward day, if he's being honest. Nothing bad, really, but it just feels strange to be in the forest with so many people; usually he's alone out there. He knows how to be content in the woods by himself; content in the woods with other people is... new. That's all.

Duck opens his eyes when he feels someone looking at him and immediately spots Indrid a few feet across from him. When he makes eye contact, Indrid smiles with his eyes and mouths, "Thank you," before popping another piece of dried coconut in his mouth. Duck does a weird little gesture that's half _you're welcome_ nod, half _it was nothing_  shrug and Indrid stares at him for a second more before he finds what he's looking for and nods back.

Whether it's the snack break or the camaraderie, they continue toward the clearing in question with renewed enthusiasm, turning deeper into the forest. The sun reaches its height and jackets are shed as the warm spring air slows around them, water bottles distributed and sweat wiped away.

The clearing is empty when they arrive, though some spooked hiker debris remains. Duck sighs and shoves the wrappers in his pockets as they fan out.

"Did they say where they heard the sounds?" Aubrey asks, wandering through the short grass and staring intently around her feet as she goes.

"Nope," Duck pops. "Cuz that'd be too easy. All Juno knew was they heard some 'weird noises' when they were up here a couple days ago."

Ned, inspecting the tree trunks around the perimeter, frowns. "What does weird noises even mean? Something moving, something… making sounds? Something like a squeak or more like a squawk?"

"You know everything I do, Ned, I don't—"

Then there is a noise: leaves rustling, then the thud of something heavy hitting the ground, and then what they can only assume is  _the_ noise. It's neither a squeak nor a squawk; it's more like a chittering? Something insectile but at a lower register than a bug should be physically capable of making. It stops nearly as soon as it starts, only to be replaced by the heavy breathing.

The four of them slowly move closer together, toward the edge of the clearing opposite both where they had entered and where footsteps are now coming from. Ned reaches for the Narfblaster clipped to Aubrey's bag but it's behind both of them. As his arm flounders with the awkward angle, Indrid (who has consciously stayed behind the other three) unhooks it for him quietly—until his fingers fumble and the clip snaps shut with a loud plasticky sound that echoes across the clearing.

The abomination's head snaps too, unnaturally fast and immediately locking its bright eyes on the four. With its head craning out into the light they can finally make out the rest of its body in more detail than large, awkwardly angled, and dark.

It's more than a horse—that is, it's a horse, but with batlike wings and something distinctly un-horsey about it. That uncanny factor grows as the wings sink into the creature's unnaturally broad shoulders, which themselves shrink back to a shape more proportional to a horse. Its head, as it turns, is closer to correct, but its black fur is matte in the sunlight; no light reflects off it the way a horse's coat is supposed to.

Between the two of them Indrid manages to fumble the Narfblaster into Ned's hands before the abomination starts toward them, but it becomes a bit of a moot point when the creature goes straight into a gallop.

"Go, go," Aubrey says, backing into Indrid, also unable to look away from the abomination.

Duck says, "Yep," and they all stumble back into running, off into the trees with the creature on their heels.

The abomination crosses the clearing in a few easy strides, though it slows when they enter the forest proper, having to weave its heavy body through the trees as the four people spread out. Ned is firing the Narfblaster over his shoulder, though most shots land amongst the trees. Duck is too busy to berate him, trying to remember if there's anywhere nearby to shake it, his hand staying at Beacon on his hips (not wanting to add it to the mix until the last moment, and besides, how's he going to stab a monster while running ahead of it?).

Aubrey, a few paces ahead of him and trying to gather some kind of magic in her hands, yells over, "What _is_ it?"

Before Duck can answer, though, a bigger problem becomes apparent.

The trees are thinning out, thick shafts of light spilling through in blotches all around. Without obstacles to weave around, the abomination catches up to them, its legs stretching longer and longer with every step to eat up the distance.

"Ned, don't—" Indrid starts, but Ned is already turning to fire again and running just a bit too close to a tree root, stumbling into a half-twisted heap.

Though he's already straightened and grabbed his Narfblaster from the ground, the damage is done. The other three have backpedaled to join or rescue him or whatever ends up being necessary, but what happens is more concerning than Ned's easily fixed fall.

The abomination freezes not four feet from the group, its heaving breaths the only sound. It's as though a bell jar has covered the clearing, trapping in now circulating air and keeping out any and all sound other than that made by the five figures within. The burgeoning ball of fire in Aubrey's hands flares as the steady breeze cuts off, then itself splutters and dies out with her nervousness.

Ned's finger is similarly frozen on the Narfblaster's trigger, all four of them staring warily at the creature which stares back. Though no one is moving, there is still a shifting quality to the abomination's face and form, a kind of fluidity like it is a pool of water constantly beginning to recover from a rock thrown into it, or like bones are moving under the surface where bones shouldn't be. Its eyes are bright yellow, undertones of an anemic green flickering as it moves its gaze from face to face.

Just when the wait begins to edge into comically awkward territory, the abomination blinks (at which point they collectively realize it had not been blinking) and begins to change. It cycles quickly through a few forms—stubby wings again emerging from its shoulders, then horns from its head, its tail appearing to be that of a horse, cat, and something with feathers simultaneously, like a 3D movie sans glasses—before the changes become more nauseatingly cohesive.

Its shoulders roll back, neck sinking into its body. The abomination as a whole begins to shrink, its legs much faster than the rest of its body, as its hair and ears grow longer, until where once a grotesquely huge, almost demonic black horse had stood was... a rabbit.

"...Okay," Aubrey says under her breath.

The rabbit stares up at them with the same golden green eyes and hops away, the wall of silence dissipating around it.

"Shit, wait—"

Again the four of them scramble, this time in pursuit, but even disregarding supernatural involvement, the rabbit has a clear lead. It dodges in and out of bushes and other places human-shaped people can't follow it into (try as they might). Objectively it's a chase best watched with "Yakety Sax" playing over it, which would certainly cover up the awkward panting and startled noises they make when the abominable rabbit hops out from behind trees and runs away between legs. They careen their way through the forest haphazardly, chasing a killer bunny and generally looking like fools.

After several minutes of this (interspersed with shouts of "Over here!" and various swears) and one very near miss of Duck's grabbing hands, though, the abomination disappears over a short overhang down to the river.

By the time they scrabble down the nearby path, there is no sign of the abomination, in rabbit form or otherwise. Duck (trying not to pass out) sinks onto a nearby rock as soon as it becomes apparent they've lost it, wheezing slightly and swatting Ned away when he tries to use Duck's shoulder to prop himself up.

"Uh, guys?" Aubrey asks after a minute of everyone catching their breath. "How far would you say we are from the lodge?"

"A couple miles," Duck answers in between pants. "Maybe three as the crow flies, but it'd take like ten minutes to get back by car. Why, you leave the stove on or someth—?"

It hits him as it hits all of them, horrified silence slamming over the clearing almost as viscerally as the abomination's eerie stillness. They're more than a mile from the gate. The abomination's been out for much longer than they'd thought.

Ned puts it most succinctly. "... _Shit_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is anyone capable of writing action scenes in a satisfying way? is this how artists feel about hands? I think I get it now


	11. shacking up with the clues

In her defense, Mama isn't angry when they tell her; she doesn't yell or slam doors or anything, even as Barclay over her shoulder goes white as a sheet stuttering.

No, when they tell her, Mama sets down the papers she'd been looking at and sits on the edge of her desk with no change in expression. It isn't even that she goes stony-faced or anything. The neutral expression she'd had when they entered her office just freezes, like Aubrey hasn't spoken.

"It's been here for weeks, Mama," Aubrey continues, "it's outside."

After a long moment and several concerned glances passed around the four, Ned adds, "We were out in the forest when it swooped in and—"

"How far out?" Mama finally asks, still with no inflection.

"More than enough," Duck says. "It chased us for a while, and then we chased it, but by the end of it we were about three and a half miles northeast, overlooking the river."

Barclay, standing next to Mama where he had been showing her something when they walked in, looks nervously at her. "Is that— I mean, has this ever happened before?"

When Mama doesn't react, Indrid answers quietly. "Not in several decades, no. In the 50s an earth elemental broke containment when the gate was in Iceland, but it was defeated the next day with no casualties, as the nearest town was still several miles away."

"That bodes well," Duck quips faintly, but he too lapses into the same contemplative and scared silence as the rest of them, the sudden hyper-awareness of how many people lie right outside that office door, let alone in the town just filling with tourists for the first time in years.

Barclay rallies first. He doesn't have his whiteboard, but he manages to unearth an unfamiliar, slightly less ancient laptop from the papers on Mama's desk. "Alright, what do we even know about this thing?"

"Well…" Ned says. "It's got wings."

"Right." Barclay looks cheered and writes it down.

"But not always," Aubrey adds. "It was a bunny too, and kind of a horse thing? But with wings, so I guess it's not limited to animals that actually exist. I think I saw feathers too."

"Horses with wings exist," Indrid interjects. "On Sylvain."

"Seriously?"

"There were several species of Pegasi, though most of them are extinct. I believe there was one with batlike wings at one point which the abomination might be mimicking."

Barclay is trying to balance following the conversation and keeping a wary eye on Mama while still writing everything down. It's not going great. "Hang on, so it's a shapeshifter?"

They all nod and start to spill everything: the weird slime, the stains, what's happening to Leo's garbage, anything they can think of that might be useful. Barclay writes it all down indiscriminately—everything from the exact way the goo pond smelled to the vague feeling Indrid had at the river—and while it seems like a lot visually it's depressingly abstract.

After a couple minutes of brainstorming, Duck rubs his forehead and says, "So the best we've got is 'something that turns rotten fruit into slime that eats people, and also just happens to be a flying horse'?"

"I mean…" Barclay scrolls back through his list. "Yeah."

"Maybe there's something in that whole shapeshifting goo/rotten fruit thing," Aubrey offers, "we should revisit that."

Barclay scrolls again. "Right, uh, 'shapeshifting creating slime equals leftover fruit slime, something about waste?' and then maybe renewal energy, I was typing fast."

"Oh yeah," Aubrey says, "and then Duck said something about—"

"The lead that didn't pan out, sure," Duck finishes. "But then Ned said there was nothing there and we moved on."

"I mean, is there anything there?" Aubrey turns to Ned. "This whole waste recycling thing?"

"Resource recovery," Duck supplies with a snap and a point, but Ned is already shaking his head.

"Nothing there I'm afraid. Though that would tie it all up in a neat little bow."

"Are you sure?" Barclay says. "Because—"

"Positive. There's no connection."

Ned's smile twitches as he catches Mama's silent eye. In one second she seems to look clear through him, which Ned simultaneously reacts to with fear as someone for whom front is everything with fear, with benign indifference as someone who trusts her leadership, and, as something even he can't put his finger on, by silently beginning to calculate how to best escape her. That that aspect doesn't rule out violence for the future should worry him, but as soon as he remembers, he forgets, and isn't that a funny thing? To forget one's own thoughts as one is having it, as though a stranger's voice is already whispering, _Shh, leave it be, wouldn't it be better not to know?_

"Look," Duck starts, "whatever it is, it's way smarter than we've been givin' it credit for. We thought these things were supposed to be volatile, but if it's been out here for more than a week and we couldn't tell til now we have to rework our expectations."

"Well, who's to say?" Ned's voice carries a lilting, yarn-spinning tone that is familiar but deeply jarring in this context. "Maybe it isn't a particularly dangerous creature this time. Maybe it's harmless."

"There's no such thing as a harmless abomination," Mama cuts in. "Even if this thing doesn't have a body count that we know of yet, it's not here on some peaceful mission."

"It is so far," Ned argues, "and if it hasn't killed anyone the entire time it's been here even though it's had ample opportunity while under the radar, who's to say that pacifist streak won't continue?"

"History? C'mon Ned, you've seen how these things operate—"

"Past performance is not a predictor of future results," Ned drawls over her, and not everyone is able to hold in their reactions to that, several pairs of eyes widening and a few quick inhales through grimacing teeth.

And yet Ned notices none of this, staring blandly around the room without actually seeing anything. As his eyes pass over Aubrey she feels that same mental fuzziness she had earlier, which starts fading as soon as he looks away. Out of habit she opens her Third Eye and the room lights up as it always does around here, magical auras on everything in sight, but she barely sees it. Trailing through the air around Ned's head is a staticky haze that blurs his features into a humming mass which, though silent, still manages to give the impression of buzzing flies.

Aubrey blinks in shock, jolting her back into the physical world where Barclay is half-heartedly reviewing their list of theories. No one seems to have noticed her brief absence, until Duck catches her wide eyes and narrows his own with concern.

 _Everything good?_ His eyebrows seem to ask.

With a tiny shake of her head, Indrid looks over too, then back and forth between the two of them and Ned, who Aubrey can't help glancing back at like she's expecting him to suddenly fizzle into something horrible.

"You know, Duck," she says when Indrid looks like he's piecing things together, "I definitely have blisters from all that running. You probably know best how to deal with that, right?"

Duck looks caught out, but recovers when Indrid gently elbows him. "Yeah. Mhm. I can help."

"Great! Oh, I bet your first aid kit's at home. That's fine, I'll come with you."

Duck nods, mouth sealed.

"Me too," Indrid suggests. "I have to return your socks, after all."

Aubrey's face flickers into genuine interest as she mentally makes note of that and Duck nods again.

Somehow this obvious pantomime of normalcy flies completely over Ned's head.

"You better take care of that then, friend Aubrey," he says. "Wouldn't want you to have to sit out the final battle. I'll head back to the Cryptonomica in the meantime, see if Kirby has any information about new flying cryptids in the area."

Ned bids his goodbyes, not seeing the glances the others shoot at each other. In the corner of each of their minds something pings, something that starts to remark on how _that was suspiciously eas—_ and is suddenly glazed over. Now that they're paying attention they notice it, but the sudden amnesia is eerily familiar, and recognizing that they've forgotten something is enough to confirm everyone's suspicions.

"Whatever it is," Aubrey says, "I mean, this abomination, it's definitely gone a hold on Ned somehow, right?"

Duck nods. "Totally."

"I honestly don't know how we didn't realize sooner," Barclay adds.

"So we just have to figure out how it found him, got him under its spell or whatever."

Ignoring the guilt simmering under his thoughts, Indrid speaks up. "He's certainly under some kind of thrall. I can't tell what it is—something about it is masking itself from all my more preternatural senses—but it's more powerful than a simple one-off enchantment."

"And it's not like the abomination targeted him specifically while chasing us," Aubrey adds, "so it must have happened before. But we've been all over town, that could be anywhere."

"How long has he been acting weird?" Barclay asks. "Maybe we can narrow it down some."

"The three—" Mama glances at Indrid, who has already glanced away. "I guess four of you, you've been living in each other's pockets the past few days. Wherever he's been at least one of you has too, and none of you seem to be under its spell."

"Shit." Everyone looks at Duck. "Aw shit, the— Bryan, whatever his fucking name was, the food guy. Ned went to talk to him and was super hungover the next morning, that's when this whole thing started with the adamant defense and—"

"Oh my god." Indrid drops into a chair. "How did I not see it before."

"Don't beat yourself up about it. None of us did."

"No, not that. I know what the abomination is."

"Well, what?" Aubrey asks. "What is it?"

"Do you have any of Thacker's journals on hand? I don't know if he ever wrote about them or if the Guard came up against something like this, but..."

Mama leans back in her chair. "Why don't you try us and we'll see?"

A pause as Indrid blinks, then says, "A pooka."

"...Nope," Aubrey turns to Mama, who shakes her head, "I've got nothing."

"The myth comes from northern Europe, more specifically Ireland, based on sort of a mixture of various Sylvan traditions and abilities and whatnot, back when there was more crossover between our worlds. There was a whole political issue with a group of mischief-minded Sylphs which I won't get into, but suffice to say the pooka became a human myth of a shapeshifting creature, often a horse, that would take humans on a whirlwind ride, tricking them and generally causing mischief."

"Okay..." Aubrey says. "That sort of sounds like what happened to Ned."

"And," Indrid pauses for effect, "they're associated with overripe food."

Their considerate silence is broken by Mama sighing.

"In that case, I might finally be able to help," she says, leaning over to unlock the bottommost drawer of her desk. "I've been keeping these in here ever since a few years ago a couple of folks got a rash from eating stuff chopped with one."

Mama tosses onto the table a thick bundle of a dark green fabric almost like burlap, tied around the middle. As she unties and unfurls it, they can make out little patterns woven into the outside, then soft suede lining within, and then, finally, its contents. A long row of knives are tucked into the pockets of the wrap, with only their dark wood handles and the smallest glimpses of metal peeking out. They would be ordinary (albeit very nice) knives if it weren't for the fact that when Mama pulls one out the temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees, like a stiff breeze has come in without moving the air.

"Cold iron." Mama holds it up to the light, which glints off the blade and reveals it to be not uniformly grey but covered in tiny waves of a geometric pattern. "Supposed to be kryptonite for fairies, spirits, et cetera. They're a little dull, but once we sharpen 'em it should only take one or two good sticks to get this thing."

They all turn to Barclay, who nods. "Right. I'll see what we've got."

As he leaves, Mama watches silently. The door clicks shut and she sighs again, hand raking back through her hair as she stares disbelievingly at the desk.

"Mama?" Aubrey asks quietly.

When she looks up, Duck immediately recognizes it: the vision Indrid had earlier. She stares at Aubrey, then Duck and Indrid in quick succession, her face never changing, and now Duck can tell that the disappointment is leveled not at them but at Mama herself.

"Look," she says, "I ain't gonna waste precious time with apologies and woulda coulda shouldas. I know I messed up somewhere down the line to miss this. When all this is over if you have anything to say to me feel free, but in the meantime we gotta stop this thing before it starts really lettin' loose. We've somehow made it this far without anyone getting seriously hurt. Let's make sure it stays that way."

Surprisingly, it's Indrid that answers. Holding her gaze, he says, "Will do."

There is a seriousness that belies his flippant wording, and as they hold each other's gaze everyone can feel the understanding that passes between them. After a long second of this silent conversation Mama wraps up the knives and stands.

"Gonna see what's taking Barclay so long," she says, patting the bundle and leaving it on her desk.

As the door closes Aubrey sneaks over to the desk, pulling out one of the blades and inspecting it. "Ooh, this thing is radio _active_."

"Cold iron and sharp objects," Indrid says, standing next to her. "It looks like it's from Sylvain too, I don't know if you have this particular smithing technique on Earth."

"So how are we gonna find this thing?" Duck asks.

The other two look up, Aubrey still holding one of the knives. For a second something dark flits through her thoughts, a zombie movie worst case scenario, where one of the party members gets bitten and tries to hide it until it's too late. The knife feels colder, and she feels Indrid glance at her knowingly.

"We'll go back to his hotel," Indrid offers. "That must be where he's been hiding out, and now that we know what he looks like, we can make sure he's away while we sneak in. And he doesn't know that we know, so if we get caught we'll say we were only looking for Ned."

Duck nods reluctantly. "Right, and since it's probably a bad idea I come with y'all, I'll go see if Elliot can get me that list, maybe check in with Leo too, find out if he has any experience with abominations like this."

He doesn't sound psyched about it, he knows, but the Ned issue is starting to sink in and there's an impending sense of doom settling over his broad but mundane shoulders.

Indrid and Aubrey nod in unison, the former adding, "The less explicit lying you have to do the better, agreed."

Duck nods, but instead of leaving he shuffles in place, glancing between the two of them in a way that would be incredibly unstealthy even if they weren't both staring back the entire time.

Eventually Indrid takes pity on him. "Hey Duck, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Yep."

They pass Mama on her way out of the kitchen with the butcher's steel, but she doesn't notice them. There's a small crowd in the lobby trying to haul a ping pong table in the back doors, so they continue out to the garden along the side of the lodge, which is thankfully empty.

Indrid starts. "Our conversation earlier..."

"Yeah, no, I— It seems silly now," Duck says. "We've got bigger worries knowing the abomination's loose, and even then, compared to your whole thing, it's like. Peanuts."

"If talking about it will help, you should." Indrid shrugs. "Better to get a small worry out of the way if you can."

"I just…" Duck sighs and pushes his hair off his forehead. "Alright, well, long story short, a couple months ago at the end of the last hunt, I uh… I lost my powers."

"From the abomination?" Indrid asks quietly.

"No, it was, uh, my mentor, I guess? That's probably the word. Her name's Minerva, she's from another planet that's I don't know where but I guess she was the one projecting my powers or whatever, but she..." Duck takes a breath. "The connection got broken and I haven't heard from her since."

The springs gurgle nearby, and farther out the creek, and farther still the river. It's the only sound for a moment other than the mash of sounds that now run in a loop in Duck's head whenever he stops thinking too long: the indistinct mumble of Minerva and Leo's voices and that crackling blues music he doesn't know if he'll ever hear again.

"Oh," Indrid says—then, after another pause, "Okay."

One of the first thing those who meet Indrid know is that he's awkwardly shaped. He's that weird combination of lanky and strong and, unlike most sylphs, actually looks like he isn't from this world. It help with his overall slight creepiness, and he certainly leans into it with the buggy red sunglasses and the wild hair.

Anyway, all this is to say he's not quite physically suited to hugging (let alone personally inclined) so it's a little awkward when he steps forward and folds his arms around Duck's shoulders.

The awkwardness vanishes when Duck hugs him back. They're basically the same height with Duck in his boots, but he rests his forehead on Indrid's shoulder nevertheless, his eyes in the shade between their bodies. Not to sound repressed or anything, but a hug like this ( _More like an embrace_ , a traitorous part of his mind adds) out in broad daylight and only barely out of sight has always felt weird to Duck, exposed and incongruous with the associated comforting intention.

It's a nice hug, though. It's nice to stand still and follow someone else's lead, not having to be the one to make decisions, not forging the way or whatever. It's nice to be... held. By anyone, really, but sure, Indrid in particular—Duck's not an idiot, he know he has a crush on the guy, but it's not just that. He's got that mothy circulation issue and in the bright sunshine a little cold is nice, and has nothing to do with the plethora of trite things about empathy and understanding that are circulating in Duck's head right now, which he doesn't have time to unpack right now, so yeah, thermodynamic equilibrium.

"You're okay," Indrid says quietly. It sounds stilted but sincere—factual, really, and even though Duck knows he can't currently see the future that well, he can't help finding it more comforting than the average platitude.

Still, he can't help the seriousness that leaks into his joke. "Is that a guarantee?"

Duck feels Indrid's laugh more than he hears it, the jerk of his shoulders and the huff of quietly displaced air by Duck's ear. His hand smooths over the back of Duck's head once before he pulls away enough to look at him.

"Duck Newton..." Indrid's voice is calm but his smile is disconcertingly small. "As close as I can possibly get."

They hold eye contact for a moment longer before Duck recovers and teases, "That's not that reassuring."

"No," Indrid says as he unwraps from the hug with an actual grin now, "I can't say 'reassuring' is really in my repertoire."

Duck shrugs. "S'the thought that counts."

Indrid tilts his head in concession and reaches over to fix Duck's collar even though it doesn't need fixing, not looking at the way Duck is looking at him but reacting to it all the same.

The sun reemerges from behind the cloud it had briefly ducked behind, dousing the side of the Lodge in light again. Still not saying anything, Indrid's face suddenly changes, holding back a grin as he reaches up and sort of pokes Duck's temple. Duck swats him away with his own stifled smile, and Indrid hops back, now grinning fully like the absolute bastard he is. With one last half attempt on Duck's part to get him back, they make their way around the lodge, wordlessly lighter than they had arrived.

Back on the front lawn the happy clatter of ping pong drifts out of the open front door where Aubrey is posted up. As someone inside yells to stop letting all the cold air out she catches sight of Duck and Indrid and quickly shuts the door before bounding down to meet them.

"These are for you," she says, passing Duck the bundle of knives. "You should probably hold onto them, in case we get caught."

"Great," he says, "I feel real confident about this plan now. Alright, good luck."

As Duck's truck disappears down the road, Aubrey jingles some keys at Indrid until he looks over.

"Mama says we should take the truck," she says, pleased as punch. "In case we need to make a quick getaway."

"And she put you in charge of that?"

Indrid's skeptical tone doesn't puncture Aubrey's mood. "Nope. She said if anyone was going to play getaway driver, it should be you."

The keys fall into Indrid's open hand, which comes up automatically as his mind is still processing the weight of that statement. Flashes of the scant few times he tried to get back in the prophecy game, faces unsaved, identities almost revealed, and there, in the middle, a last-minute rescue of a much younger Madeleine Cobb, driving a temporarily stolen car through a torrential downpour and away from a nasty crocodile-like abomination.

"Right."

Aubrey's face softens. "She seemed to mean it. I mean, whatever happened… Yeah."

"Yeah indeed," Indrid agrees.

"And hey, since we're confiding?" Aubrey opens her vest and shows him the knife in her pocket, from the set. "Just in case things—"

"Aubrey—"

"In case things break bad! I wanted you to know I've got your back!"

"Please, just, don't use it unless absolutely necessary."

"Of course!" Aubrey leans in, still grinning, and claps him on the shoulder. "Last one to the pooka is a rotten egg, Indy."

"Oh, no, that's not happening," Indrid says as she scoots past him, headed for the truck.

"It's already happened!"

With a sigh, Indrid follows her, unable to help grinning himself. For the first time since they saw the abomination, he feels genuinely hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost a 4k word chapter, but lots of people had lots of things to say. next chapter many more things Happen, and a fair few of them criminal! woohoo!

**Author's Note:**

> yes the title is from "[take me home country roads](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vrEljMfXYo)", it's a good fucking song and I am tired of pretending I don't love it. also I heavily associate it with being in the woods in west virginia and telling stories about cryptids soooo it'd be criminal not to use it tbh (chapter titles come from various songs by the roches, because they're just too fucking perfect, and also I love them)
> 
> pls comment! I wanna know your thoughts, your theories, etc., this is the part I love most about posting multichapter fic lol
> 
> tumblr @[lamphous](http://lamphous.tumblr.com)


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